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

Opening her eyes, Sariel registered speech around her, and words that she could understand. A faint smile danced across her lips. The Warden had broken the world that had been. The Maw was gone. There were no walls. There was no floor. There was no longer a ceiling looming above them. The warden had shattered reality. And then reshaped it. An example of the High Art, shrouded in darkness. Sariel shuddered, giddy with fresh discovery. Magic filled her senses. Powerful magic she couldn’t claim. Not yet. She would have to understand. She wanted to. 

Standing in the named wilderness, she shifted her robe, unhappy with the unrestrained wind that touched her. The sunlight, not yet faded, set her skin alight with half-forgotten warmth. It was all too pleasant for her tastes. She preferred thick walls and heavy doors. Her thoughts were interrupted by fresh warnings. She did not bother with her name. She offered no title. Such pleasantries could wait. She would not waste her breath. She could hear riders. She could see them. There were wyverns in the sky. Wyverns with ironclad riders.

Sariel had no desire to fight. Certainly not without time to prepare. However, fresh materials for her magic would be welcome. Flesh and bones untouched by the slow decay of time were easiest to work with. Such spirits clung to their old lives and slept lightly. She needed servants. She would need many servants. She might need an army. She might need several armies of undead. To find the lost agents of the king, three souls disappeared in hostile lands, was no small task. To kill a living god defended by uncountable faithful seemed harder still. 

She sensed the knife resting against her throat. Choice marked by a thin line of blood painted over her throat. The Warden's spell lingered, the geas she had cast wordlessly remained. Sariel could see only one path forward, but she chose it gladly. She needed no escape. There was much to learn. There was much to understand. She would study. She would serve. She would aid the Warden. And she would fight.

Muttering a fell incantation, Sariel studied her new compatriots, her unwilling colleagues, and the strangers who now shared her fate.

A well-dressed dandy rising from the dirt, full of wit and smiles. A dwarf bristling with armor, arms, and louder words. A half-orc dressed for the wild setting, notably unarmed. An ethereal woman, taller than any creature Sariel had ever encountered, that spoke poetry in a mournful voice that sang to her with old magic. A half-dressed girl, still dripping with water. And the armored goliath swimming in an uncertain current of eldritch power.

She found herself disbelieving the final wretch that the Warden had summoned. Sir Brandon of Brainbridge. The man she remembered reminded her little of the sorry creature that had quickly claimed his name. He had been a brave man with a sharp blade, a knight of the sort vanished from the world and heard of only in ancient stories. She suspected deception, the cheap tricks of a conjurer, she would discover the truth later. Simple magics could always be dispelled.

As the two forces drew closer, battle seemed unavoidable. Sariel doubted the Easterlings would welcome uninvited strangers found sneaking across their lands. She held no hope that the Sulfreyans were arriving to peacefully greet these very same guests. And the self-proclaimed King of the Hills and High Places did not seem to be a man overly fond of diplomacy.

[color=#63B8FF]"I don't suppose you want to try talking to them first?"[/color] Sariel said, resting her right hand on top of her grimoire.