Ardea, that was her name. The memories she held were few and empty. Where recollections ended there was a void or intangible haze. In the mire of Moritius the forgotten dead would rise to seek claim on the life they once had, only to be cut down in silence. In the unearthly fog of Perditi the glimpse of a lone figure faded in and out of view followed by the sharp whistle of something slicing through the air. With each swing, more dead were sent to their final rest. In a way she and the undead were the same. Both were lost, grasping at whatever they could grab a hold of. An abandoned cemetery like this was a place full of lost things. A tall woman in an armored gown with hair black as night stood in the midst of the unliving horde with a great scythe. Waves upon waves of reanimated corpses with sickly lights in their eyes shambled forward. Another slice, another swing. At once the necromantic energies surrounding the bodies were dispelled and they returned to the earth.

Standing amidst the mausoleums and unmarked headstones she remembered the sound of bells, echoing in the hours before twilight. For whom did the bells toll? Where had she heard them before? The memory of the bells grew louder and clearer with each row she cut down. That resonant gong of brass swayed up high where all could see. Its low mournful peal told that a soul would soon depart, and with each walking corpse that fell she heard it boom in her ears. 

She did not know what drew her to this place. She had awoken with only her name and no other memories. Who was she, where did she come from, and how did she arrive here? To these simple questions she had no answer, only an innate desire to send off these neglected souls of the departed. Perhaps this place held something about her past. Something familiar, something palpable yet just out of reach. It was like grasping at the wind–when she thought she had caught hold of it, it then slipped through her fingers. What was it that she was trying to remember? With each corpse put to rest the looming silence grew.

A cemetery, how fitting.

Would this be where they buried him and his mother once he had destroyed her life? It was a shame that DaeLuin had died before he’d had the chance to put right what had gone wrong on that foul world… that was where they should have died; where he and his mother were meant to walk the Path together – he was never meant to live, never meant to suffer the curse that had befallen him because of that infernal Goddess of Death’s interference in the natural order of things.

His lack of sight he could have lived with; being unable to become a wolf like his father he could have lived with… but to be robbed of his ability to become a Dragon like his mother and forced to live like a common Elf when he was so much more… that was unforgivable. No. He would rectify the mistake of his birth and of his affliction and he would ensure that his mother suffered just as he had suffered since the moment of his birth and then he would end their lives, together, as Fate had intended.

As he walked among the mausoleums he used his tainted blade to keep the undead at bay – as a Necromancer himself he was not afraid of the creatures for he was so used to commanding them. He knew how to turn them away, how to bind them to his will should he require it. Even without his eyesight he knew where they were – the stench of them and the shuffling of their rotting limbs made them all too easy to locate even for one who could not see. Yet one amongst their number did not belong – one who did not carry the foul stench of death but instead was full of life; the sound of someone fighting against the undead.

For all his hatred of his own existence Raith could not help but be attracted to the sound; blindfolded gaze turning in the direction of it as he tilted his head to properly locate where he needed to go. He moved with grace and ease through the cemetery – many had remarked on his ability to move unhindered but it had merely taken practice and an ability to ‘feel’ the world around him. ”Hail friend!” He called out, wondering who would answer.

Another sharp slice cut the air and the twisted faces of the undead reverted to lifeless peace. In the brief moments they had before they crumbled apart, it was like an unspeakable burden had been eased. An unfamiliar voice was calling.  Watching in silence she tried to ascertain if it was the fog playing tricks on her or if there truly was someone speaking. Though her own memories were lost her instincts remained.  It was unusual for the walking corpses to avoid someone in their midst. Returning with a reply she asked the man: "Who are you? What brings you here?" Perhaps that was better asked by him. They were both strangers in an even stranger place.

She never would have suspected the man standing before her was blind. That too was one of the many things she had forgotten. Even the blindfold present did not register. Her voice held little emotion;  no fear, joy, or anger. Even standing in an overrun graveyard would rattle most after a while. Emotion along with memory had been lost for Ardea. To the undead still lingering around, she cast a spell. With a flicker, glyphs on her hands conjured a brilliant light that caused them to flee. The area around them would be a bit quieter for now. 

“My name is Raith; my feet merely led me here after some time, though I will admit that as a Necromancer by trade so places such as this are like a second home to me.” He called back in return. “Though before you ask this lot have nothing to do with me; my own work calls for a little more decorum in my undead than this bunch of rattling, rotting cretins.” He snarled, lopping the head off of one particularly unruly corpse that dared to lunge in his direction - the stench of the thing filling his nostrils as it launched itself at him.
“Though I might pose the same questions of you!” He snorted.

The smell of magic filled his nose, the taste of it metallic upon his tongue, electric upon his skin. Cocking his head slightly to one side Raith listened as the undead fled from the area - only two things could scatter the deceased in such a fashion; fire or holy spells. He could not smell smoke nor hear the crackle of flame and since there had been no sound when the magic had been cast he concluded that some sort of holy spell or spell of light must have been conjured.
“Well that is a welcome respite for my nose to say the least; the smell of them was becoming somewhat overbearing.”

"My name is Ardea. My reasons for being here are the same as yours." A necromancer, one whose arts involved bringing the dead back to life as servants. She was aware of such a thing, something she hadn't realized until now. The way the man coldly cut off the head of a walking corpse showed disgust, a distaste mixed in with something stronger than irritation. It was so strange, they seemed similar yet so different. She was unsure if they knew each other once. Would it be too far-fetched of a coincidence that two people would meet in such a place? Perhaps. Grasping at what few memories she could call her own, she tried to imagine the man before her in that place she still remembered. That quiet hall of vaulted arches shaded from the noonday sun, stone walls carved plainly yet cleanly. That place didn't seem like where he would be…

There was a vagueness as she continued to look at him. She knew someone once, her age, a male. His face and voice blurred from the parts that were missing. Necromancy, why was this so familiar? She only remembered what it was, but not how it was done. There was too little for her to compare or fully recall. 'I knew someone like you once,' She wanted to say. If only she could remember, she would know if it was him or just a stranger. This hesitation, being so unsure–hopefully one day this fog from her mind would end. "Perhaps…I sympathize with the walking dead. Lost and wandering, without reason or purpose. One can wonder if they know that they have already passed from life and have yet to find rest." This man who called himself Raith, did she truly know him from her forgotten past? Did the person she could barely think of always speak with such lingering spite?

There was something in her tone… something unsure and questioning - to others it might have gone undetected but to Raith… well… it wasn't just a little bit obvious it was as clear as day. He saw an opportunity here; if he was correct, to find himself a potential ally to use to his advantage, he had a great deal of work to do in order to complete his task and this woman had the potential to help him if he was right. As she spoke her name he pretended to be caught off guard by it, taking as step back and holding a hand to his chest as though the very utterance of such a name had caused him great pain. "Ardea?" He whispered in return, the word filled with a mixture of relief and something akin to mourning. "Ardea is that truly you?" He added, taking another step in her direction. "The smell of the dead masked your scent to me and I dared not believe that it was you. We thought we had lost you; you have been gone for so long and no one knew what had happened… we saw… we thought we saw you die, or at least the others did… that's what they told me when we could not find you." He said sadly, putting his hands to the blindfold over his eyes as though to hide the pain. 

"I cannot believe that I have found you; here of all places, alive and well and fighting the undead just as you always did." He smiled softly at her and reached out a hand towards her. "You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice again dear friend; after thinking you were gone from us for so long…" Would it work? Had he read her tone correctly? Would the ruse work in the way he hoped it would? Only time would tell but at least he had to try. 

With no comparison to serve as a guide, she had no way of knowing if he lied or spoke the truth. He seemed to know her, though she wondered why he had not recognized her at the beginning. How long had she…? Fighting the undead, it was something she was familiar with. There was no question about that, yet she also knew a necromancer. Were they on good terms despite having opposing positions? Too many things she didn't know, and too few answers to match them. Uncertain, she took his hand to ask more. "How long had I been missing? Do you know where the others are?" Others, as in people she and he might have once known. Her lack of memories made it easy to suggest connections when there were none and to deny those that existed. Such was the risk of losing oneself; it was a double-edged sword. And a sword if not handled properly would easily harm the wielder.

"Take me to where everyone is. No matter how much time has passed, they should still know I am here." Eyes solemnly looking at him, the first feelings she reclaimed were insistence and melancholy. Perhaps this would be a start for Ardea in finding herself again. Everything she had lost, everything she had forgotten–she would be able to recover in time. For once, she wasn't utterly alone in a vast, unfamiliar world. She wondered if they would forgive her for forgetting them. Maybe they would even know the cause of her loss of memory. As long as she still drew breath on this earth, anything was possible. Unknowingly, her chance meeting with Raith would serve as a turning point–one that would set her on the path that she desired, but only after learning more about the world she now lived in and those around her.