[center][h1][color=lightskyblue][b]Nemeia[/b][/color][/h1][/center]

The Dreamwalker's words did not bother Nemeia, his caution was merited and there was wisdom in his warning. His concern for their safety was touching and the tiefling could not help but smile. She cast a quick eye at the motely crew gathered outside the tomb, two had turned to three and then five in a short time. Five was a good number, certainly when confronting unknown numbers of undead. Still, she nursed other hopes, and her heart fluttered with unbridled joy as she desperately latched onto Knossos' suggestion that talking remained an alternative.

Taking a step closer to the elderly occultist, Nemeia nodded energetically, "YES! Let us parley with the poor, wretched creatures that lurk in this no doubt cursed tomb. Not all undead are evil creatures hellbent on spreading death and disease, some are simply weary souls seeking to return to the long, peaceful sleep that they have been promised. It would be right to offer them kindness."

She gestured towards Galaxor's axe, Ivraan's spear, and Ilyana's cutlass,"I feel great confidence in our abilities, but we needn't dispense with good manners and good will...at least to start?"

Nemeia did not doubt that the others could feel the wrongness that poured forth from the entrance of the tomb. Standing outside she felt cold, as cold as she had on a cold winter night in Morenia. A decidedly unnatural phenomenon, standing in the daylight as she was. Nemeia knew better than to expect a peaceful resolution. But she had hope. She wanted to think that things could go well. She had decided to try.

Galaxor's song warmed her still. There was a cheer to the giant that comforted. Ivraan's person too shone with a pleasing light. She knew little of the cutlass wielding woman, but she seemed the capable sort. Nemeia was not alone. The pilgrims could do great things together. She believed it with all of her heart.