Ashes of the Fallen

Chapter 2: Difficult Customers

To the messenger's credit at least she didn't scream.

Surrounded in pitch black darkness, Nemera's sepia vision did nothing to deter the brightly burning Light Traited from introducing herself. Still caught in the thralls of her Pulse, her necromancy hummed dangerously close to the young soldier, aggravated by the arkalite reacting to her ostentatious armour and drowned out the majority of her speech. Nemera didn't need to know why the girl was here. All Opalians wanted the same thing. To be heard above everyone else.

"Forgive me, Deathkeeper but...we are in a slight time crunch. What Basra is trying to say is....we need your help."

Nemera fought the urge to laugh in her face.

Excelliars tended to be overly proud of their appearance but not even a boggy swamp could deter her tail from lifting her chin high and her long blonde hair from remaining tightly wound within her braid. The standard white armour of the Excelliars wasn't a surprise to Nemera but the gold inlay not only indicated a high rank but the rarity of such an item meant she wasn't just some random mercenary attempting to buy her services. She was important. Annoyingly, so.

Nemera fought the urge to trip the poor sod into the muck, but something niggled at the back of Nemera's brain like a piece of information she was struggling to grasp. How did she know about the Keeper's of Trait? For the first time that night, Nemera gave the Excelliar eyesore a smile that tended to unnerve even the toughest of generals.

"If you're looking for an assassin I'd suggest avoiding barging in on a necromancer's Domain, Lady Aira. Or should I address you by your current title, Throneholder? I doubt even you could evacuate an entire town without it." Nemera said, unable to help herself despite the company she seemed to attract.

The demure, respectful and slightly shy facade of a standard apprentice vanished the moment Nemera called out the newly appointed leader of the Opalian monarchy. Her expression became stern but hid an eagerness to prove herself despite the natural terror she felt over her country's current situation. Nemera wondered if it was too late to still shove her into the bog without it being a national outcry.

"That has yet to be formally announced. But I would assume anything less from the Night Rider's successor."

Letting out a breath of frustration Nemera stretched her arms, her enhanced sight recognising the familiar look of someone trying to be more important than they were. Nemera had seen it in those who begged Midari to choose a different apprentice. She had been a simple lamplighter from Hazehollow, a small village in Shuriken stuck in the grasp of a cursed forest deep in the Mirewood. Nemera smiled at the memory, the marshy lands of Willowstone a far cry from the enclosed hollow of her home.

It had been a quiet, close knit community that made quite a discovery through the Shadowtide, a long stretch of river that had created a natural set of tunnels underneath the border. Those said tunnels had started the illegal alcohol trade and eventually, what had given her family prominence through the creation of Silvercross mead. But much like her family, the village of Hazehollow was no more. When the demons came Nemera had lit the way with ...well, it didn't matter anymore.

"I'm sure Basra would say differently, My Lady." Nemera said evenly, opting to turn away from the conversation in favour of those aforementioned duties.

Nemera didn't need her Pulse to hear Basra's scoff within her mind.

Of course the Gorgon hadn't bothered to meet her in person. Only a fellow necromancer could invade another's Domain and like the idiot she was, Basra had permission. They had grown up together but it didn't make the childhood reunion any less bearable. Shadow Traited rarely mixed with anyone else. Especially not a sulky childish Sand Traited.