Arannis stepped out of a portal, arriving at one of the gates of Aestas Outpost. For once he was not wearing his finery, but instead a set of humble robes. He looked out over the sea of tents and shacks. There seemed to be an influx of people at another gate, and so he slowly made his way there. Arannis passed group after group of adventurers. Some plotted their next raid into the desert. Others divided up the treasures they had found. More still swapped stories with other groups of the horrors they had encountered. Years ago, Arannis might have felt himself inclined to join one of these groups, but for now he had a different plan. He set up a tent near one of the gates where wounded adventurers streamed in. He put up a sign outside that read Healing Services. He placed an empty pot inside the tent and waited for the wounded to arrive.

Disabling the undead shambling around Aysut had been amusing for a while to Dalanesca, but before too long it had lost its luster and she no longer found it entertaining.  It didn't take her long to trek back to Aestas by foot, choosing that over the more time-saving method of gate travel.  There was only so much she could do regarding the pyramid and the priest stealing souls from all over Revaliir - including her own domain - and she needed to do something to recharge a bit.  Her energy levels were running rather low - the endless disintegration of the undead was rather draining.  

It seemed since last she had been to the outpost, a few more tents had been staked, meaning more people had arrived to offer their services to those trying to battle the waves in the City.  She, being a deity, was not looking for anyone to heal her wounds or tend to her, but rather just a place to sit back, and perhaps sip on some of the whiskey she had in her flask strapped to her leg.  Hell, there was a chance she could offer her help with any of the wounded that were too far gone and shuttle them off to Inferos before they could turn like those in the city.

She stopped at a tent near one of the entrance gates, seeing a sign that indicated a healer was inside.  The tent looked fairly clean, indicating that there had not been much activity there.  So, Dalanesca stuck her head through the flaps, and stepped in, shaking a bit of sand out of her long dark hair.  "Mind if I take a moment to rest in here?" she asked, calling towards whoever it was that had set up the tent.  "Just a bit warm and a bit drained from fighting.  Don't need any healing," she said, as she awaited a welcoming response.

Arannis slowly felt a presence entering the camp. A powerful magical aura, stronger than any he had felt before. On a whim, Arannis vanished back to his inn half a away. He reappeared after a few moments in his finery once more. Arannis did not want to be caught unprepared for whomever had just entered the camp. Networking was vital, and if he could make a good impression on whoever this mage was, perhaps they could assist him. Perhaps they knew of the magics needed to pierce the planes from Revaliir. Much of Arannis’ power had returned, but that ability still eluded him. He could freely transport himself anywhere within this plane, just as he once could in his own, but he lacked the ability to leave it. Something was different about the way this plane was grounded within the ethereal sea. For all of Arannis’ scrying, he could not discern what that difference was. He was stranded here. The idea worried him at times, but he did take solace in the fact that there were far worse planes to become stranded on.

Arannis sat back down at the table within the tent, pushing aside some of the runic puzzles he had been designing for his son. Aran always loved the games. Analyzing the runic structures his father crafted and finding the perfect runes to complete them, or the flaws in the structure, or even simply discerning their meaning. All those puzzles filled Aran with excitement. Arannis knew that his son would be incredibly gifted at the more logical side of magic when he became old enough to channel power. Bending forces in algorithmic and mathematical ways in order to produce desired effects. Aran would make a fine wizard. However, Arannis couldn’t help but wonder if he would also be gifted with intuitive magics. Sorcery. The ability to will the world about you to change. To tap into an internal well of power and thrust it outwards to do your bidding. The power that Arannis himself wielded. Such power could not be learned. Arannis was born with the potential, and he had always assumed Aran would as well. However, with the unusual circumstances surrounding the boy’s birth, anything was possible.

Arannis was snapped out of these thoughts as he felt the presence rapidly approaching, Arannis steeled himself. He did not know what to expect. Finally, the tent flap opened, revealing a woman of average height in a dark outfit. She looked to be human, but that never meant much. She had piercing, ice blue eyes and long black hair. She did not look the part of a mage, but then neither did he. Her aura was unmistakable however. She was absolutely drenched in a dark power.

Her power was of the sort that could crumble cities and rend souls from flesh. There was a twisted malevolence permeating the arcanum that infused her very presence. Listening to the hum of her magic was like listening to the sound of a thousand screaming souls. To touch it was to be pierced by ice so cold it deadened the flesh. To gaze upon it was to stare into the void itself. Arannis knew that whoever this woman was, she was incredibly dangerous. Her power exceeded his by orders of magnitude, and was far more honed towards bringing about death than his could ever hope to be. He would do well to avoid angering her.

Arannis hid the dread he felt and smiled in a welcoming manner as he said, “Of course, feel free to take a seat. It has been exceptionally slow business. I had expected more adventurers would have been grateful for this service, but healing capabilities must be more commonplace than I expected.”

“Either that,” Arannis joked, “or all these adventurers simply perish before returning.”

Feeling nervous, but concealing the fact behind a charming smile, Arannis offered a hand, “Arannis Falone. What brings you to Aestas?”

Dalanesca returned the man's warm smile as he welcomed her into the tent, unaware of just how attuned to her magical aura he was.  She stepped further inside.  Instead of finding a seat or bench or cushion to rest on, she moved towards an edge of the tent and sat down directly on the ground, stretching her legs out in front of her.  She leaned forward, loosening the buckles on her boots as she spoke to the man that had welcomed her in.  "Aye, it's a strange scene out there in the sands," she began.  "Many of those who have ventured into the wastes are rather skilled when it comes to healing themselves, I imagine, but your joke may not be so far from the truth," she said, her smile darkening slightly.  

When the man extended his hand to her, she obliged, reaching up and taking his in her own, squeezing it gently as she shook it.  After releasing his hand, she stretched out a bit more.  "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arannis," she said, though she did not move to offer her own name so quickly.  "I'm out here for the same reason as many others, to defeat that greedy power in the temple that's powering itself up with all the souls it can muster," she said, and there was an audible hint of malice in her voice.  It faded rather quickly, and she stood back up, using her hands to brush a bit of sand off of her clothing. 

"I've got a bit of a personal vendetta, I guess you could say," she said, shrugging her shoulders slightly.  She went into no detail following that remark but instead turned the conversation back towards him.  "It's clear you're here to offer your services, healing wise, though - I mean you've got a sign right outside, it would be rather silly of me to ask what brings you here," she said, giving him a bit of a silly grin. 

"I was keeping up rather well, but I've been out there for days without a break - a girl needs some time to recharge, have a drink or two, you know?  There's nowhere convenient to do it, and nearly every other tent is full to the flaps with dead or dying - I see that enough in my daily life, I don't feel like looking at it right now," she said, knowing full well that it would hint towards her true identity, or at least which sphere she associated herself with, and proceeded to sit down on the floor again.  From her leg just a few inches above her knee, she pulled a small flask from a garter 'round her leg and uncapped it, taking a long draw from the bottle before offering it towards Arannis.  

Arannis managed not to flinch when she shook his hand. The feel of her power was magnified even beyond what he felt from her presence. At times, Arannis’ attunement to such forces could be a detriment. However, at the touch he could feel her magic ever more closely. It wasn’t mortal magic, ordered and controlled. It wasn’t the familiar touch of the arcane, no. Arannis’ magic was a canal. Ordered, purposeful, and directed, hers was a surging river. Chaotic, wild, unrestrained. Her magic was otherworldly. She had some kind of connection to extraplanar entities of great power. Perhaps she was a ranking cleric of a church of the gods, or an acolyte of a demonic cult. He was inclined to believe the latter with the nature of the magic he had felt from her.

Malevolence dripped from her words when she spoke of her grudge against the temple. Arannis responded saying, “I pity the greedy powers behind these events, should your stake against them be personal.” He punctuated the words with a small smirk. It would be quite the experience to see her power in action. Arannis could only imagine the depths of destruction that awaited this temple and the forces within.

Arannis returned the smile she gave as she continued to explain her presence. When she mentioned her connection to the dead, Arannis’ thoughts returned to what he had felt from her magic. His research prior had turned up little of the sort. Perhaps she was an acolyte of the goddess of death? A ranking member of that order. It could help explain her vendetta against the powers behind the crisis. Most followers of death gods Arannis was aware of were hostile to necromancy and other such perversions of natural cycles of death. He would look deeper into the religion, perhaps pay its temple a visit some day. After the crisis perhaps he would see this woman there, a ranking acolyte would need to visit the center of power at some point.

When she offered him a drink, Arannis shook his head, “No thank you. Apologies, but I make it a point to avoid drink when I am casting.” Arannis noticed she still had not freely given her name, he decided to push further. Even a pseudonym could tell him more about this woman. “What were you doing before coming here? And what might I call you?”

"Oh, if only you knew," she said to Arannis as he mentioned pitying those her rage would be directed against.  The smile that spread across her lips was somewhat sinister in nature, though it was clear that there was no hostility directed towards him.  As he declined her offer for a drink, she shrugged her shoulders.  "Suit yourself," she said, and took another pull herself before tucking the flask back in its hiding place.  "I suppose everyone uses different parts of their mind to cast, don't they?" she said, rather nonchalantly.  "I find that not much acts as a hindrance myself, but I suppose I can count myself among the lucky ones, then," she said.  

Dalanesca gave a hearty pause when Arannis asked about what she had been up to before coming to his tent, and also what her name was.  "Well, as I told you, I was working on making my way towards the pyramid, unless you mean before that.  What I was doing before that was… well, some find it to be a rather messy job," she said, chuckling to herself.  "I tend to spend a lot of time out of the light of day, and it…. gets to some people, I suppose you could say."  She paused again as she thought on a pseudonym to offer him, but thought better of it.  After all, if he had an adverse reaction to her true identity, she had a multitude of options on how to get out of the situation, ranging from teleporting herself elsewhere to simply killing the man.  She hoped his reaction would be favorable, or at least neutral because she was not feeling particularly murderous towards anyone besides the undead and the lich priest stealing the souls.  

"I'm called many things if I am to be perfectly honest," she said. "Some call me the Hand of Shadow, some have been known to refer to me as the Harbinger… but I am most commonly called the Reaper," she said, assuming that he would be catching on by now.  "My given name, however, is Dalanesca."  With that, she stared at him, her icy blue eyes boring into his own as she waited to see just what sort of reaction this revelation would bring about.  Would he believe her?  Or would he simply laugh it off as a joke?

When her eyes met his, he saw an intensity. Not only of power, but of sheer will. Hers was a stare that Arannis had difficulty meeting, but meet it he did. He focused his willpower and started right back into her eyes. The ice blue of her gaze directly meeting his dark green. When she spoke next, Arannis regretted his decision.

When she finally introduced herself, Arannis thought at first she was lying, or merely mad. She had power, yes, but to be who she claimed yet still walk among the mortals? However, she made her claim with such certainty, such absolute truth. There was not a trace of doubt in her words, nothing she did suggested falsehood. He hoped for the sake of himself and all those here that it was not madness, with the depths of strength he had detected from the woman. But as he thought back through the conversation, he had to come to the conclusion that it was not madness either.

Never before had Arannis considered he might find himself face to face with the goddess of death. He was used to the idea of gods as distant beings, powerful, yes, and clearly existent as evidenced in any number of ways. However he was very much unused to the idea of gods walking amongst mortals. He did appear visibly more nervous at the revelation, but rapidly did his best to compose himself. Finally, Arannis did all he could. He spoke.

“I am honored, Dalanesca.”

The power of the True Name resonated through the area as it left his lips. It was the sort of power that could be shaped into the beginnings of a prayer, an invocation, or a summoning. Such beings as she would certainly hear it when their names were spoken in such a way, and spoken thrice it would be difficult to ignore. However, Arannis had no such illusions that it would be a good idea to further focus the attentions of death herself upon him.

“This crisis then has gained the attention of death herself, to the degree that she intervened incarnate rather than send her followers to dispatch it. I had thought that this was merely an ordinary upstart lich. It seems I was wrong.”

That fact made Arannis quite worried. Perhaps he should take a more active role in events. He had imagined this trip as an easy method of gaining silver and perhaps some connections amongst the adventuring community. He hadn’t imagined it would truly be a crisis of such magnitude. Perhaps he was overreacting, perhaps Dalanesca had arrived out of curiosity or whatever other motivation Death might have. Though perhaps it was best if Arannis did assist in ending this crisis, rather than continuing to attempt to profit from it.

Then again, perhaps he could turn a profit here. He stood before a goddess, one whose power was clearly evident. Perhaps he could bargain for a mere fraction of that power. No. No he would not. The days when Arannis had traded in such deals were long past. He had piggybacked off of the power of greater beings long enough, that is why he broke his previous pact of such nature. He would not consign his loyalty, his very soul, to another great power, be they demon, angel, or goddess of death herself. Especially not now. A decade ago, he would have began constructing an offer, a bargain, a deal. He would have taken this opportunity to gain unimaginable knowledge and power from a timeless being. But now he would never divide his loyalty. He could never again engage in such a pact, not when the desires of a goddess might conflict with what was best for Arannis’ son. He could never justify such a thing. Arannis blanked all the thoughts of pacts and deals from his mind. He would not barter with Dalanesca, no.

However, the temptation was still great enough that the ideas of the gifts she could offer hung in his mind. Perhaps not a pact, but perhaps he might still seek Death’s favor. He could think of few things a goddess might want, but he did know of one gift that might tempt even the goddess of death. Perhaps he would seek her attention at another time. Or perhaps he might engage in his gambit now. After all, why should one bother with a sacrificial ritual to chance gaining the attention of a divine when they are currently staring directly into your eyes.

“I might offer a gift, a sacrifice, to aid against these foes,” Arannis offered. A thrill of fear filled him when he spoke his words, but he kept his calm, friendly expression on his face. If one were to walk in and see the pair now, they might assume Arannis was speaking to a friend or casual acquaintance. None would suspect he was offering a sacrifice to the goddess of death.