A Dark Glimmer

By the time Isabel gained the ledge overlooking the scarred battleground, the dark glimmer of red and purple had smote a demon lord with the sheer power of her faith: anger.

Isabel could smell the tiefling’s anger from afar. It nurtured her and sustained her. The tiefling paladin absolutely ran, and fought on her reserves of anger. But the hate wasn’t all Tarrah’s fault. Isabel had looked into her background with the help of friendly rogue. Tarrah Batori was the distant granddaughter of a Lady Erzebeth Bathory. The great lady had appeared a century ago–most likely through the Mists like all over strangers to this Neverwinter opera. And if her informant was right, the woman was once a notorious blood sucker.

Isabel watched with astonished eye as Tarrah (terror?) ripped through what was arguably her own kindred. But she remembered that lesson learned by the lone god of Krilldonia who spied so closely on her. It was a vital mistake to assume kindred of the fallen revered each other, or even respected each other. An animated skeleton to Isabel was not much more than animated dust, and such as a demon lord to the proud Tarrah below on the field of honor.

This one would be the answer to who would watch over her own sleeping bones now that the cleric and the warlock were afoot, searching from Isabel’s sleeping spot for no good reason, or so she supposed.

Perhaps she could offer Tarrah a bit of information about her distant grandmother, Erzebeth. Or such could be found, some sort of artifact rumored to once be in her possession. That would require more roguery, but thankfully, she had the funds to begin the search.

Tarrah, she promised herself, would become her vassal, even if it took parting with a bit of the dark gift to make it happen.

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