Banshees normally don't attack during the day. That was something she remembered from the repository of lost memories which were slowly returning to her. When reports of undead harassing towns in the Highlands spread along with the presence of the rifts, she had expected to see a necromancer or summoner like in Sacra Rosa. What she didn't expect was a large networks of crypts widely known by the local population. The crypts were no longer in use, as was with most mass burials and mausoleums. Often this was due to the dead refusing to stay dead, or out of their descendants' negligence. With death running rampant, it seemed even the fine balance that bound the unliving was starting to wane. Her normally sinister appearance was no longer treated with revulsion as the people were desperate for any sort of solution. Whether be it a witch, warlock, or even another necromancer–they wanted someone to put an end to the draugr now escaping the stone halls. And that was where Ardea excelled.

Ancient draugr were no match for a cut from her scythe. Those that managed to avoid it were finished off with a stab from her Equilibrium's Edge. The souls freed from their desiccated husks were then absorbed into her Anima ring, fueling her magic that allowed her to continue her systematic onslaught against their numbers. Whatever forces that had kept them from leaving the abandoned burial grounds were all but gone causing this sudden outpouring of walking corpses. For the time being she would focus on thinning them out before attempting to determine how to put the wards back in place. The draugr stumbling around were barely holding together. A few more centuries and they would be only bones. Their clothes had rotted away and their armor was falling apart. Even the metal portions had succumbed to rust and corrosion. She would place the first layer of wards on the outer archways, then once she cleared out more she would advance inward. Her plan was to gradually push her way in, adding more layers of repelling wards with each area that was emptied. Not a permanent solution, but it would restrict the movements of the undead towards the inner levels until the arcane bonds needed reinforcing.

But she had yet to complete even the first step, as without a doubt the hordes seemed endless. Ages of unwary folk or foolhardy grave-robbers had grown the initial numbers considerably. She needed to find a stopping point or else she would never be able to rest. Tapping into the pool of collected souls, she unleashed a powerful blast of holy light, temporarily forcing the shambling bones to retreat. Quickly she carved a warding glyph in the soil and enclosed it within a simple magical circle. The arcane energies radiating from the lines repulsed the returning draugr, and she moved swiftly to a new point that was several meters away to repeat. There was a purpose to these actions. By herself she could not risk the effort to cast a large-scale spell, but by doing like so she could slowly create a sealing barrier similar to what her late friend Alexander had placed over the ruined monastery on Egjora. And once it was complete, the undead would be locked within certain region.

Draugr. The Highlands version of mummies. On his mother's name, he HATED the undead. Stipulation: he hated mindless undead. Even worse, he hated that he had to be out of Sularia. His mother had gotten hurt after all. Auntie Dal…

The young prince stopped thinking about it. It hurt him pretty bad to think that someone he had adored as a child could do that to his mother. Yes, he knew it wasn't TECHNICALLY Dalanesca who had attempted to murder his mother and unborn sister, but the pain was still there. He wondered how man of his siblings had been sent out from Sularia to make themselves useful in this endeavor to deal with the issues created by the rifts. He knew his father had insisted Iris go to Mo'mey, and here he was. Maybe it would simply be so that they weren't under foot. Iris had been odd to say the least, and he knew he had a tendency to be… clingy to say the least. 

There was an upside to mindless undead like the Draugr. They couldn't tell magical animals from not, and they tended to leave wildlife alone. Wings also made that a bit easier too. He preened his black feathers and glanced around the area. It was crawling, literally, with draugr that had pulled themselves out of the mausoleums and crypts that made up this section of hills. Definitely not somewhere you wanted to be on your own. He had heard from locals that some sort of hedgewitch had come up to try and help them with the problem, and while normally they might have shunned her they were now grateful for the help. 

There was a flash and a crash of divine magic not far from his perch. That must have been her.

The Sularian prince spread his wings and took off, his heavy black feathered wings taking him not so silently to the air and he soared over the next rise. 

She seemed to be handling herself pretty well. Rohan landed in a scrubby tree not far from her position and turned a beady on her tactics. If he understood her motions, she was trying to set small wards, creating a sort of spell wall that would eventually lock the draugr within the area. An effective tactic, usually, but Rohan had to wonder how much area she was going to try and seal off. 

He followed the lines of magic she had already placed. Then he looked at her trajectory. Not good. He cawed at her, and took off from the tree. He landed on a rocky outcropping about twenty paces to her left. 

"Here," he cawed at her. 

The continent of Canelux was a strange one for Nemanja, accustomed as he was to life across the sea in Iria. Here, the natives believed that powerful mages were gods, actual divine beings, which he found to be a rank superstition at best and a fanatical belief of clouded minds at the worst. But there were some advantages to coming over, especially for a man of his experience. He had been a soldier of the Republic of Iria and a graduate of its Mage Academy later in life when he began to show a late ability for the arcane arts. But he was not content to remain in Iria and study after his formal education had finished, so, as the second son of his father’s small but respectable house, he left to make his own way in the world. That way his brother, a more traditionally minded sort, could take over the family estates and its seat on the Mages Council of Iria and Nemanja, with his flair for adventure, had taken the airship over to Canelux to seek his fortune in a part of the world where magic was less prevalent. Mages trained at the Academy were hard to come by across the sea and few were also trained to fight, so, Nemanja had thought, it would be the perfect place to ply his trade as a something of a sell sword. He did not need the money to survive, exactly, as his father had subsidized him heavily with letters of credit in every major lending house in every major city. Instead, he traveled where he liked, looking for adventure and with it, the hope of a major windfall.

The Highlands, however, had been a poor choice. The people there were suspicious of magic in general and magic wielded by foreigners even more so. A few of the lords had entertained him, offering him fights against their champions, which he took more lightly than he ought to have. The men he fought lacked his finesse and speed with a blade but they were tenacious and brutal, even willing to be stabbed for a chance to land a strike of their own. Nemanja won some of the bouts, all fought without magic, and left with a healthy, mutual respect for the Northmen as soldiers. So, no richer, but wiser, Nemanja found himself on the road south with a small caravan of merchants who welcomed the showy sellsword as protection against bandits that roamed the hill land at the edge of the Highlands. Three days into that journey, reports began to filter along the road with rumors of rifts and the raising of the dead into a horde that threatened the living. Nemanja did not take them seriously until they encountered some of the draugrs shuffling out of a burial mound that overlooked the road. The merchants were spooked and sped off south, hoping to outrun the threat, but Nemanja remained behind. This, he told himself, was the sort of situation he had been waiting for, the sort that could begin a man’s reputation.

So the next morning, he broke camp alone and dressed himself for war as a form of meditation, placing each piece just so while his mind wandered, focusing on the spells from the Academy that he thought would be most useful after facing the undead the day before. It was almost surreal, facing the dead in battle, but, he thought as he adjusted the last strap on his breastplate, surreal would make for an excellent story and that story could catapult him into the public eye. He headed off the main road toward a stretch of land that the Highlanders had used to bury their dead in the past century. There would be more than enough excitement there to go around.

Another mage was there already, a woman, preparing warding spells that were containing the undead but she was alone and the undead were threatening to overwhelm her. Nemanja smiled and dragged his long saber from its sheath and cut an intricate pattern in the air in front of him. When the pattern was complete, it glowed gold in the air a moment, and then the blade of his sword took on an eerie glow. “On your left,” he called in his accented Common, and waded forward past her to help slow down the undead so she would complete her wardings. As they shuffled toward him, Nemanja smiled and swung his sword in an arc in front of him. The blade flashed brighter and all along the arc, balls of flame threw back some of the mindless horde, leaving them sizzling husks. It checked them a moment but there was no way that he could stop them all. He only had to hold them, he told himself, and pulled his dagger out of his belt as well while he set his feet. His spells would only do so much before his energy was exhausted, so he knew he would have to rely on his blades as well.

“I will hold them as best I can,” he called over his shoulder to the woman, “but I do not know how long it will be. Give a shout when the warding is complete so I can get the nine hells out of here!” A shuffling specter, once a soldier, from the look of his rotting leather cuirass, stepped ahead of the pack and lunged at him. Nemanja slashed his heavy saber across the draugr’s throat, nearly severing the head, then backswung the blade up into its chest, mangling the long dead organs and dropping the creature to the ground. He took a step back toward a rocky outcropping, leaving the draugr’s body between him and he horde, hoping to trip them on the still twitching remains as he prepared his next spell, muttering the words he had learned across the sea, hoping that they would work as well in Canelux as they had when he learned them in Iria. He would, he thought dryly, find out soon enough.

It was difficult when your attention was divided. If she was with a group, she could take a moment to send herself upward to grasp a better view of the land. Ardea pushed back the moving swarm with another holy blast when she heard a shrill voice call to her. "Here," a crow said. She was not one to question things under such critical circumstances, so she took its advice. With a swift motion she drew the glyph and added another link in the enclosure. "Thank you." Since she now had a decent reservoir of souls to draw from, she cast Cereus' Protection. Two large spectral panthers took form and they charged into the incoming undead, throwing them into disarray. Taking this brief respite, she wove stronger enchantments into the glyph chains. Before her summons ran out, she was already running to her next position. The sooner she could establish the framework of the great circle, the easier her tasks afterward would be. Contain the undead to a limited area and fulfill the wants of the local townspeople; then in her own time patch up what their ancestors had set in place.

Whether or not they would choose to honor their offer of a reward, she would still gain something out of this. She had to re-learn her initial deftness and awareness she once had in using glyph combinations and arcane circles. The steady rumble of the walking dead told her the spectral summons had expired. Halfway through finishing her current ward, she couldn't stop now. Stopping mid-cast would force her to restart the entire process. Unwilling to make this effort all for nothing, she chose to stand her ground. Drawing a protection glyph, she bolstered her own defenses for the incoming assault. Her armor could withstand it–but the ward must be finished. The draugr were soon surrounding her on all sides chipping away at her magically enhanced defense while the warding glyph was just about to be completed.

Already feeling the protective enchantment was starting to give, the moment the ward was established she conjured a magical hammer that swept the crawling corpses off in all directions. Some of the less fortunate ones were sent straight into the warding barrier, bisected or sliced up in awful angles. Even simple barriers could be used in destructive ways, as having an unstoppable force come through a body resulted in cuts cleaner than any sword could make. The remaining stragglers had their bound souls torn out of their rotting forms to fuel her preparations for the next ward. Under less stressful conditions she would have had a few questions for the enchanted bird, but that would be put on hold until things settled down. She gave a glance towards the crow as if waiting for a suggestion or reply.

Upon the creation of the next link in chain, Rohan fluttered to the next most strategic spot. "Here." The crow cawed again. She was clever in using Cereus' Protection but Rohan knew it would not last too long. In fact it did not last long enough. She was only part of the way through drawing the glyph and was slowly becoming surrounded. From his perch on the top of the rocky outcropping he let out a shrill whistle and there was a crashing in the underbrush. A massive Harenian Riding lizard lashed out of the underbrush and crawled down upon the draugr that were surrounding the girl. 

It was an effort at least, but a moment later, the connection was made and the warding barrier shot up. Draugr pieces scattered from the force of the spell, and the lizard happily chased after pieces to much on. It was rather impressive watching the flood of souls that left the desiccated corpses to fly into the ring on the girl's hand. Things calmed down a bit as the draugr tried to pass the barrier but were unable to do so. 

When she looked up at him, Rohan squawked at her and fluttered down to settle on her shoulder. He nipped at her hair a bit. 
"Well done," he cawed softly. He fluttered from her shoulder to a nearby rock and regarded her. 

[OOC: Sorry about skipping over you Nemanja, your turn is next.]

They worked together, the bird acting as her second set of eyes while she painstakingly built a large alchemical circle big enough to swallow up a hill. Finally they were reaching the last point in the chain that would seal the draugr off from the rest of the Highlands. "You have been a great help, Crow. Though I suggest perching somewhere farther in the next few moments." Ardea advised, ready to trigger the arcane reaction that would etch itself into the land. With the barrier complete, all the points along the chain resonated in a loud roar, the earth shaking as it came into full effect. The spellsword chanted words in another tongue, otherworldly energies flooding the rolling plains. Glyphs branded into her skin lit as if on fire, manifesting on her shoulders and back. When the initial burst settled, there was a soft golden light that marked the boundary which the undead could not cross. Its effectiveness showed with the roving husks being knocked back when they tried to move past it. She had chosen this method to reduce the chances of accidental removal. A more stable method involved engraving the wards into hard stone and burying them in strategic points in the same array, however someone could unknowingly dig them up and move them. The wards had no effect on the living, allowing people to pass through undeterred. This was as much that could be done for the time being. With still some souls in her anima ring left, there was no need to use her potions. "The foundation has been laid, tomorrow–the outer crypt chambers." 

"What d'ye mean you've just started?" The barrel-chested burgomaster gawked. "I have completed the first step of your request Sir Macleod. The builders of the crypts had warding runes carved into the masonry upon its construction, and it was thanks to those runes that have kept the undead contained until now. In order to complete my task, I must locate their placement and renew their effects." The coarse-haired man grumbled, thinking it was fancy talk. "I s'pose you'll be expecting more payment for that?" The dark-haired woman replied tersely. "That will not be necessary. I had already taken this into account upon acceptance. Your doubts are understandable sir; however should I be allowed to continue my course of action the undead will be fully contained for at least a few centuries."

"The current state of the crypts is akin to a severe rat infestation. There are too many to cull all at once, therefore containment is necessary to restrict them as closely to their point of origin as possible. Once their numbers have dwindled, additional layers of runes will suppress their presence in the crypts even further." "Hrmph. Do as ye like then…" The burgomaster was left with nothing else to complain over, and he dismissed her with a huff. She gave a bow, then returned to the single room the town of Gairbroch was willing to offer. She had a sleepless night, as she perched herself on the thatch roof above the window once all the lights had died down. The wail of the banshees were a little louder than nights past and the moon was waxing full.

Rohan flitted up and out of the way at her warning and was STILL sent tumbling through the air by the force of the magical barrier. He squawked and regained himself before he fell to the ground. Once she was ready to pack up, Rohan decided to tag along and flew alongside her back to the village she was assisting. He perched on a roof nearby where she met with the burgomaster to explain what her plan for the next day was. 

Rohan took a moment to consider what exactly he was going to was going to do himself. He preened himself and squawked in a very crow fashion before he flew back down to sit on the young woman's shoulder. He nipped at her hair again for fun before he flew off to go and sit on the thatched roof and watch the sunset. Once night had come, he shifted back into a human and laid back on the thatch, and chewed on a piece of straw. He looked up slightly as the sound of distant banshees but turned his gaze back to the sky until he heard a the shuffling of the thatch as the young woman clambered out her window onto the roof as well. 

"Nice night," he said as he pulled the straw from his mouth. "You did good work today," he said nonchalantly. "Impressive warding skills."

She wasn't the only one awake though the hours were long. As the moon cast its pale light on the houses, bats and other night birds cried in the darkness. "I merely borrowed the method from someone I knew. Copying the same structure but through segments." Ardea stated. "That person once cast an entire unbroken alchemical circle around an entire monastery. His name was Alexander." There wasn't more that she could say about him; most memories of her past up until now had been completely lost when the man had used his very own soul to send her to safety. Disrupting a ritual in progress had its consequences, sometimes irreparable ones. And there was only so much that the sacrifice of a single soul could preserve. Ardea was left with only the basics: Alexander was her friend and he had died to seal off Sacra Rosa, her mother was part of the order and had long passed on, and she was now the last living member of a fallen cause. Those she had been close to were no longer with her. 

"What is it like, knowing everything about your past?" It was a strange question, but it had been lingering in her thoughts for a long time. Was it normal to have this emptiness, a lack of something when situations were brought before you? She had found her origins, but still felt as if she had uncovered so little. Her entire life had been in the order of Sacra Rosa, and now that too was gone. It was a stark contrast with the highlanders who no longer remembered the time of their ancestors. Those who gave up their nomadic ways and settled into towns left that past history behind. And with the passing of years, the memories of stories and traditions would be dulled. Once her work was finished, within less than fifty years the crypts would be forgotten again. The draugr would just be a rumor and disappearances into the old tombs would be seen as superstition. It was a very good thing they were by themselves tonight. The townsfolk didn't need more excuses to start witch hunting. When the sealing was complete she would leave and stay clear of the region. 

Rohan regarded the witch with a raised eyebrow in the growing light of the moons. "That's an odd question. Short answer, I can't answer simply because I don't know what its like to walk around without knowing," he answered. "That's also a bit of an assumption, that I would know my own backstory. In this realm it seems that there are a plethora of people who don't know where they come from. Dying worlds, dying realms, amnesia, or just no one to tell them from infancy… take your pick." 

He pulled the straw from his mouth and flicked it away, sighing contently as the light of Parvpora and Canelux filtered down on them. 
"So, what's your name? And what possessed you to come and deal with the draugr outbreak on your own?" he asked curiously, his red-ringed metallic green eyes glinting mischievously in the growing light of Parvpora. 

The transfigured crow raised a valid point. Perhaps she should have chosen her wording for her inquiry more carefully. Having only emptiness as her memory for so long made her assume others would have what she did not. A small void was harder to notice than a large one. "My name is Ardea Rosenheim." She replied. "I took this request here in the Highlands because it was something I was familiar with." It was the first thing she recalled upon losing her memory, the sensation of swinging a scythe through hordes of undead in the bleakest of places. "This isn't the first time I have handled them, both in this life and those past. The first place I came across upon awakening was what they call the Perditi Cemetery." Her pale blue eyes still had a listless, cold gaze. "There are still so many empty parts…pieces of myself I can never retrieve. Sending the restless dead to their final rest is perhaps the one thing that gives me a sense of purpose. When one falls, I know that soul will no longer wander the earth aimlessly." They would no longer be trapped, unable to move on. They would be freed. "You could say I pity them." With the two moons in full view, her restless mind was finally able to sleep. 

Shortly after sunrise, Ardea was already at the crypts. Clearing the way with the new outer barrier in place made her work easier than the day before and the numbers of the undead seemed to be slowing. Using her arcane sight, she traced the faint auras of the old weathered warding symbols in the ancient stonework. They were placed mostly around entries and exits, though as part of the masonry fell into disrepair new openings allowed the draugr to bypass them. To ensure the draugr would be limited, she cast a dust devil behind the nearest area she planned to reinforce while having a protection spell on herself active. The husks were mechanically taking the path of shortest distance, therefore they trapped themselves in the small maelstrom while Ardea emblazoned the ancient warding runes anew. The rune began to glow with a soft light once it was active, and immediately the undead began to move away. Today instead of her scythe, she had her sun glaive to take advantage of the increasing daylight.

The crypts were extensive, a testament to the greatness of the old Highland clans. Even if trapping the draugr in bottlenecks was easy she had to walk quite a ways between each spot. Gradually the draugr shambling out of the stone walls fell to a trickle, then stopped altogether. They were only a couple hours away from noon when the crypt's outer walls were secured. Instead of stopping, she was quick to move into the outermost layer of rooms. With her area of movement now limited, placing the new wards would become a race against time. The more contained the draugr were, the more concentrated their numbers would be. She would have to increase her speed and dexterity or else be overwhelmed. The glaive was exchanged for the Equilibrium's Edge, sacrificing reach for a more maneuverable swinging arc, and the undead here were in better condition than those exposed to the elements.