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

An involuntary shudder coursed through the tiefling as the dark spells woven by the newly arrived pilgrim took form in front of her. She knew little of the pilgrim who had named himself Terilu, but the words he spoke after performing his foul ritual did little the quell the disquiet and concern that had stirred in her heart. To bandy so lightly with death was an ill omen. She feared for his heart and his soul. The mace she held in her hands felt heavy, but she did not feel anger, only sorrow. The ill-fortuned undead had been granted no reprieve, merely a different set of chains to bind them in unwilling service to another. Still, there was hope, perhaps this Terilu would release them when their task was completed.

The Goddess spoke of forgiveness. She spoke of mercy. Nemeia would not judge the necromancer hastily. Honesty was a start. And she knew better than most that no evil was certain, no evil was everlasting. Valradun could touch the hearts of even the most wicked, her moonlight shone through the darkest nights. Even there, beneath stone, in the forsaken tomb of the long damned. More importantly, her mistress was no fool. The Necromancer was doubtlessly correct. Some greater force, some more powerful evil lurked deeper in the tombs. She would not reject more allies. Theological debates had no place on the battlefield.

Offering a quietly whispered prayer to Valradun, Nemiea moved next to Ilyana, nodding towards the half-elf as she shook the dust from the head of her mace, the unwelcome reminder of the undead figure who's skull she had pummeled.

[color=lightskyblue]"Let us fight with the shackled dead then, deeper in this corrupted crypt,"[/color] Nemeia said to the others, a hint of unintended sorrow apparent in her voice as she gazed at the batling flying ahead of them. Her wings tingled beneath her robe, her armor cool against her skin, [color=lightskyblue]it would be good to fly again[/color], she thought, but not in such a place, not then. Hefting her mace over her shoulder, Nemeia spoke with renewed cheer, [color=lightskyblue]"My fellow pilgrims, our solemn task remains, we must continue our freshly begun work, we must cleanse this place of the evil that afflicts it."[/color]

There was fresh steel in her bearing as walked after Terilu, mace and magic at the ready.