Lady Carlisle's Secret

Death take me.

And it did. And yet she lingered. The gruesome battle ongoing around her.

So, not even in death may I return.

The Duke must be warned, she knew. But how? Three centuries hence, a death mage, a necromancer, will take all. As an arrow flew through her, to implant itself within some undead's rotting corpse, Lady Carlisle, Elf-Friend, and Enchantress, cast her last spell.

On the battlefield, her body glowed as the fighting moved towards the forest.

In the netherworld, or wherever she happened to be, she stood proudly, arms outstretched and hair flying behind her in the wind.

"Ealendir. I am done, although I fear I am cursed to yet walk among the living even as I cannot feel the air about me nor touch objects or the warmth of flesh. Find my body. Take from it the key hidden in my helm, and my ring. Put them in the tree on the plain, with some coin if you have it: whoever discovers it deserves something for the demands I shall make haunting them.

"I know not if my other form still sleeps by the fire, is dead like me, or just a fantasy concocted to salve my mind against the horror."

"Thank you my friend. Think not the worse of me for succumbing to that most human of fates: death. And undeath I suppose".

She dropped her arms as the world around her began to mist, and let herself float upon a breeze she could not feel, and yet could sense.

She let the current take her.