As if cued by the words of Sylvea's parting request, Matron Valanice's gaze drifted high to the windows, as if she too were somehow aware of Ariean's whereabouts. Perhaps the matron's familiarity with the sororal ghoul was more intimate than Sylvea had first suspected.

"Certainly she may accompany you," Valanice sagely affirmed. "If our order will not permit Death itself to part loved ones from each other, then who would we be to impose such partings ourselves? May Ariean be of great aid and solace to you, wherever this errand's bleak path may lead."

Bidding the bereft father to approach, Valanice addressed him in turn. "Sister Sylvea has called for your company on this journey, and by your word you shall lend it. When she is prepared to set forth for Palemale, she and her sister will call for you."

The peasant nodded solemnly and composed his reply, but the matron's continuing voice stopped him from putting thoughts to words.

"May your journey to Palemare find favor with the deathless beauty of Our Eternal Lady and end in unmitigated success. Fair winds to you."

The circle of clerics parted, permitting Sylvea to leave their presence and attend to her quest. Stout Brother Haurigg bowed as she passed and expressed his concerns.

"Yours is a dangerous path, it is, and I dread to see you foray on to Palemare without us. But I'll not lead you from that path, for your heart most truly knows your need. Return safely to us when the task is done."

Greater love and appreciation for his concerns would have been felt were hers a warmer and more giving heart. But for the moment there were only herself, her sister, her service to her Endless Lady and the road ahead. And even should the road be broken or the land obscured in fog or darkness, the Staff of the Northern Cross would see her to Palemare, one way or another.

And the seeking father came to her side. "I am grateful to the bones that you led me here. I am Donovon Minsel, and however I be needed I've ears for your every word, I do. I'll be 'ere on this spot when you call for me, madam."

(Sylvea may take this time to prepare for the journey and gather any of her items from her humble living quarters in the temple's dormitory. She should also take this time to prepare her spells, so that she will be able to cast them in times of need on the road ahead.)

(As a Level 5 Cleric with a Wisdom of 17, Sylvea may prepare and cast up to five 0 Level spells, four 1st Level spells, three 2nd Level spells and two 3rd Level spells per day. This checklist (encompassing all of the cleric spells from D&D 3rd Edition but not from Edition 3.5) contains many of the Divine spells which Sylvea can access and prepare; her Domains do not prevent her from preparing any of these spells, but her Alignment will prevent her from preparing and casting any Good spells (ie. Bless Water, any spell with "Holy" in the name and pretty much any spell with both "Evil" and an antagonistic tone towards evil in the name) and can seriously mess her up if she tries to cast them; if in doubt, don't hesitate to ask. And don't be fooled by the limited numbers of checkboxes on that checklist; Sylvea can prepare more than three castings of the same spell if she wishes.)

(As a cleric of Evening Glory, Sylvea also has access to the following spells (found in the supplementary book Libris Mortis: The Book of Undead) and may prepare and cast any of them as well:)

1st Level Spells

Summon Undead I - calls a skeleton or a Small zombie into the cleric's service. The undead summoned by Summon Undead spells do not count towards the maximum number of undead which the cleric can control through Rebuking.

2nd Level Spells

Blade of Pain and Fear - creates a fear-inflicting weapon from Beyond formed from biting, chanting mouths and gnashing teeth.

Ghost Touch Armor - makes the armor of any subject touched proof against the ethereal attacks of ghosts, wraiths, spectres and other incorporeal undead.

Spawn Screen - prevents one living creature from rising as an undead spawn if slain by any "contagious" undead while the spell is in effect.

Summon Undead II - calls a zombie, a Large skeleton, two skeletons or two Small zombies into the cleric's service.

3rd Level Spells

Clutch of Orcus - paralyzes and continually wounds a victim for as long as the cleric maintains concentration.

Protection from Negative Energy - shields one living creature from up to 10 Damage from every negative energy attack that connects during the spell's effect.

Protection from Positive Energy - shields one undead creature from up to 10 Damage from every positive energy attack that connects during the spell's effect.

Sheltered Vitality - grants one living creature immunity to fatigue, exhaustion, ability damage or ability drain.

Summon Undead III - calls a ghoul, a Huge skeleton, a Large zombie, two Large skeletons, two zombies, four skeletons or four Small zombies into the cleric's service.

(And remember that, as an Evil cleric, Sylvea may sacrifice any of her prepared spells to spontaneously cast an Inflict Wounds spell of the same level, in case the need for such a spell suddenly arises.)

(In addition to those prepared spells, Sylvea may also prepare one of her two Domain Spells for each spell level. These spells stem directly from her deity and Sylvea's two chosen Domains--Magic and Protection--and may not be sacrificed to spontaneously cast Inflict Wounds spells. Please choose one Domain Spell from each spell level below:)

1st Level

Nystul's Undetectable Aura - masks one magic item's magic aura.

Sanctuary - prevents enemies from attacking the cleric, as long as the cleric does not attack them either.

2nd Level

Identify - reveals one magic feature or property of a magic item.

Shield Other - shields one subject from half the damage of any attack, transfering that damage to the cleric instead.

3rd Level

Dispel Magic - either negates all spells and magic effects on one targeted creature or object, or negates one random spell or magic effect from every creature within a 30' radius.

Protection from Elements - makes the cleric invulnerable to damage from one energy type (fire, cold, electricity, negative energy, etc.), absorbing up to 12 Damage per Cleric level (60 Damage, in Sylvea's case) from that energy type before the spell ends.


(That's it. Don't forget that Sylvea's Protective Ward ability (bestowed by her Protection domain) will be refreshed at this time as well.)

(The time of day is now dusk...an ideal time for evil clerics to prepare their spells. However, Sylvea should also now decide whether to begin her journey tonight or the next morning. As a ghoul, Ariean is not hindered by sunlight or the sunlit hours, but at night she will enjoy certain advantages over any living enemies which she and Sylvea happen across. Of course, any undead enemies encountered at night may enjoy similar advantages over Sylvea as well....)

(And apologies for this post and its extended delay. As you can see, this post is quite big.)


Sylvea >

Sylvea nodded her thanks to the blessings from the other preists and smile, glancing only once up at the window as if to ensure she would find that shadowy figure there.

Nodding pleasantly towards the father, she bade both the parents to rest and recuperate, the temple would see to their needs for the night and for the father to prepare himself for a journing at dawn.

She knew advantages lay in the darkness for her, but Palemare would be a journey - hopefully they would reach it at dusk rather than the bright burning of the day. Not for the first time did she thank Evening Glory for bringing her sister back as a Ghoul, rather than a vampire. They were powerful - and usually better preserved, but they had their distinct disadvantages.

Beckoning for her sister to follow, she paced to her rooms - they were bare, save for the essentials such as a writing desk, bed, pallet and chairs. Her bookcase stood to one side and the curtains on the windows were light - translucent. Touching the curved back of the wooden chair lightly before she sat, she allowed herself to feel the essence of nature trapped inside it before setting to her task.

Preparing herself for the journey would not be too difficult a task, but she closed her eyes to better concentrate on herself during the process. Only occassionally would she open an eye to make sure her sister was still there, hovering by her side, amusing herself with a rat she had caught along the way.


Sylvea requests the following spells:
0 lvl: Create Water, Cure Minor Wounds, Detect magic, Light, Resistance.
1st lvl: Cause Fear, Command, Detect Undead, Obsuring Myst
2nd lvl: Ghost Touch Amor, Zone of Truth (I assume that this makes a person tell the truth?), Darkness
3rd lvl: Sheltered Vitality (I assume this can be done on herself? if not, I choose Summon Undead III), Animate Dead (if Summon Undead III is given, change Animate Dead to Remove Disease)

The following Domain Spells:
Sanctuary, Identify, Protection from Elements.

Packing what she needed for the journey, or what she judged would be needed, she ate a light meal, ensured Ariean would be refreshed for the morning - and slept deeply. She would need her rest - she knew this. Though this particular journey felt routine, she knew as a Death Priestess, anything could happen. She only hoped she was prepared enough.

Standing at the temple entrance the next morning, Sylvea hefted her Staff, patting the horse that carried her possessions. She preferred walking, herself and her elven heritage leant towards greater stamina in that area. Looking down at her official Cleric's Vestments - coloured silver in honor of her rank, she smiled and felt the small silver dagger that dangled from her belt.

Ariean, as always was by her side and as she waited for the father to appear, she felt amused by the reaction the man would most likely have upon setting eyes on her sister.

The hours of night soon yielded to the morn. Whispered devotions and the sounds of passion murmuring and gasping from Sister Fayla's room ebbed shortly before the sunrise; Ereck had surely returned to his coffin, and broadcloth bedsheets were shuffled about as Fayla herself settled in for some diurnal sleeptime. Heavy, plodding footfalls and the clacking of bones against bones outside Sylvea's door hinted at the dwarves' passage outside to the temple's inner ward. A handbell pealed twice from within the temple nave, sharply calling the few faithful awake at that early hour to prayer before falling silent again.

As surely as the sunrise, Donovon emerged from the temple's guest quarters soon after the first rays of sunlight fell across the windows. Consternation was immediately upon him as his gaze fell across Ariean, and it grew as his eyes narrowed onto her mouth; Ariean was not one to play with her food, nor was she a tidy eater. Suddenly conscious of herself, her ruddy tongue quickly darted out from her mouth, stealing the remaining smears of rat blood from her thin, dark lips before retreating.

"Ahh...ahh...so this is what the matron warned me to steel my nerve against!" Donovon gasped, subconsciously stepping back without removing his gaze.

Ariean was accustomed to such alarm. "Pray cast your dread aside, sir. I do not kill or devour unless my sister permits. And so long as you threaten her not, she should have no reason to turn me against you. Is that not true, Sylvea?"

A paled glance rolled from Ariean to Sylvea, then back again. "Hmm...very well. Ye lent your aid on my son's behalf, and I shan't turn it aside."

The father then averted his gaze from Ariean, peering into the palms of his hands, unsure of the bargain he had made. But his uncertainty was quickly swallowed by resignation and compliance.

"Very well, aye. Very well. Then let us go to Palemare at once. 'Tis easy enough to find. We but follow the road west, and listen for the screams an' cacklin' of madness."





The hooves of Sylvea's burdened horse trod heavily on the stone road not far behind them, but soon other sounds rose before the travellers to further split the permeating silence. Donovon had spoken truly. Even at half a mile from the city walls, the howls and wails and deranged laughter of many could be heard. Brown grass thrust up through the layer of snow, seeming to sway to the uneven cadence of cackling and screaming as the wind swept, died and rose again rhythmessly. And the snow continued to fall and drift slowly across the lands of Nellowswann.

The evergreen bushes which flanked the approach to the gate had once been diligently pruned and nurtured by the mayor's gardeners; now the gardeners and the mayor were gone, and the shrubbery had grown wildly into sickness and disarray. Many finely cut pavestones had separated from the once-maintained road and lay scattered about that road, for no one cared enough to set them and mortar them back in place. And amid a scattered multitude of posted baronial quarantine notices, a great red X had been sloppily painted across the great outer doors of Palemare's gate, warning travellers not to venture therein.

To enforce that mandated avoidance, the baroness' soldiers had constructed a makeshift guardhouse at each gate; so hastily had the guardhouses been erected that the carpenters had not taken the time to shave the bark from the timbers. Go great was Baroness Camilla Lessenhoff's fear of the Laughing Death escaping Palemare that she had the standing gate guards doubled in number, more eyes and ears ever vigilant against anyone trying to get in.

...or trying to get out.

But on this day, the four guards posted at the east gate did not stand watch. Evidently a great and violent confrontation had occurred within the scant hours before Sylvea and her party arrived. Only one of the halberdiers could stand on his own, and he was busied attending the wounds of those who could not. The decorated guard captain lay bloodied and quivering from more than one great blow, his crumpled breastplate removed and his tunic torn aside so his corporal could take needle and thread to a belly wound dealt viciously enough to breach plated steel. Another corporal--a dwarf woman--lay across her bundled cape with her halberd beneath the small of her back. She seemed stable, though clenching her teeth with pain and cursing the bitter winter and the cold roadstones under her breath. And the captain's sergeant lay facedown on the road nearer Sylvea, his blood seeping an indigo stain through the blue armsman cape which covered his head and body. He would not be returning to his watch ever again.




But what had caused the bloody commotion? Though she was distracted with the scene, and though the evidence lay beneath a thin layer of fresh snow, Sylvea could not help but notice the trail of deep and very large footprints, left by feet much larger than any adult man or half-orc; even the ogres who descended from the mountains from time to time were somewhat smaller than the towering humanoid who had left these tracks, approaching the gate and disturbing the guards. A flurry of exchanged blows, a shower of blood spilled...and the giant turned away and departed towards the north. But the departing giant's footfalls were staggered, shuffled and twisted by unsteady feet and flecked with falling rivulets of blood. However mighty the would-be intruder was, it seemed that the guards had responded to the threat with a formidable resistance and sent the giant away in defeat, though at grave cost to themselves.

But Sylvea could only guess at vagueries about the giant, never so intimate with her knowledge of giantkin. Perhaps the surviving guards had answers but, preoccupied as they were, they had yet to notice the cleric and her cohorts. If luck was with the guards, another threat to the quarantine would not press them again into their duties that eve.

And yet someone had noticed the approaching trio. Though barred together from the outside, the outer doors of the gate, with hinges wearied from age and neglect, hung ajar, and beyond the inner portcullis many figures loped and skipped and flailed their arms madly, a multitude of humans and humanoids behaving more in the manners of unrestrained children, rabid beasts or mindless, catatonic golems. An outstretched hand reached desperately through the portcullis and to that scant gap. Fevered glares from a face pressed terribly against those iron bars pierced the frosty expanse. And though the guards had grown accustomed to ignoring the crazed ranting from the doomed city's inhabitants, Sylvea's keen elven ears could never ignore the mad voice's chaotic stream of words.

"Great Son of the Ice, release me! Come back, I beg of you! I beg you...I beg you...pity me...us. She comes! She rides the moonbeams as Death's mistress, she does! Her steed is Death! Her heart is filled with maggots, and her tongue is already dead! Thunder down on us again! Mercy be to the earth! The earth that devours...devours us...our minds...YAH HA HA HA HA HA ha ha ha...."

The stacatto clamors of bone impacting against iron rang as the lunatic abruptly began to thrash his face against the portcullis bars, and he did so repeatedly and with greater force than an unafflicted man could ever muster. Ariean nervously panned her vision across the snowfields north and south of them. Whether the guards' presence or the raving madman had placed her lifeless heart ill at ease, she did not say.





Sylvea >

The journey was not a long one, taking less than a day at their steady pace. Donovon did not pause too long, nor did he speak to them too often, his eyes usually rolling towards Ariean as she strode beside her sister who led the burdened horse.

The horse itself, Whiteshadow, was by now used to the dead sister of his owner. His first reaction to her had not been favourable, but sweet treats, along with time and patience had given him a unique understanding of Ariean. She would not hurt him - and he would never snap at her again.

Sylvea did not overly mind at the lack of communication. She would gain the information she needed when she needed it. Her time at the Temple had taught her of Fate - and taught her that though she should not wait for things to come to her easily, she could expect things to come as they had been Designed to.

Donovon grew more accustomed to Ariean, but the scent of uncertaintly wafted off him in waves continuously and laid Whiteshadow's ears against his head. Sylvea absently soothed the horse, and kept a close eye on her sister. Just because she was undead did not mean she had her feelings taken from her.

As they finally approached Palemare, Sylvea slowed up, surveying the countryside around them. She bade Ariean look as well, to better note which passages went where, should they need to exit the city in a hurry.

Upon coming to a Gate, Donovon stopped as did Sylvea and the others. A battle had been fought, and it was difficult to tell if the soldiers had been victorious.

Immediately Sylvea moved to the halberdier that was still standing. "Dear man, what has happened here?" her Cleric's vestments gleamed, even in the dim glow. Her Staff in hand, she looked around to see if she could help any that survived this encounter, her gaze pausing at the man that would surely not servive the night.

Ariean kept diligently to her side, though Sylvea wished herself some more breathing space - she knew her sister was on edge and appreciated the extra pair of eyes.

She herself fought hard not to nervously glance towards the gate from whence the unholy screams and gnatterings came.

Barely looking up from his ministrations, the armsman glowered. "A frost giant, hungry and desperate...moreso than most, methinks. Winter's hard on everyone, even the frost giants. Winter descends...fewer animals or people in the mountains...giants go hungry and start venturing down from the mountains to raid and eat whatever they can grab up. In years past, we could usually ring the alarm and call up enough guards to drive the odd giant or ogre away with little bloodshed. But since the quarantine...."

His wounded comrade began to breathe more easily; the bandages binding his thigh and breast wounds would hold. Satisfied in his work, the well guard's eyes wandered up to Sylvea again, and from there to the lanky figure at her side.

"You travel with a ghoul," he stated as calmly as he could, casting an assuring glance to the nearby halberd on the pavestones. "What am I to make of this? Explain quickly."

Behind him, more madfolk gathered behind the city gate. "Pull the veil from the moon," the talkative madman sobbed without lifting his head from the portcullis, weeping through a sheen of blood in a curious display of sorrow without evident causes.


Sylvea >