When traveling vast 'distances' between realms, travelers have often experienced a feeling like a fall at extremely heigh velocity. Silas Greyshott would respectfully disagree and argue instead that it was technically more akin to a "launch," and at this moment he was firmly reminded of why this was the case. Cosmic winds whistled in his ears, and lightning bolts streaked through the clouds of fog and dust he hurtled past. Rarely was it this violent. Something was wrong. Many of the threads to this realm, a 'dead' realm, he now realized, had been severed.

The Mage focused on the strongest line as he twisted around in space, outstretched a hand, and cast a pulse of energy into the ley thread, and when it echoed back, he honed in on the makeshift 'sonar' and hitched a ride. His surroundings spun less, and he found himself moving in what was almost a smooth arc, soaring towards a vast, tumultuous black cloud, until, crack!

Silas tumbled through the tear at the other end across smooth, soft turf - moist dirt and green grass. He was rolling too far, towards a slope at what seemed to be the top of a hill wreathed in thick fog, and he struck out with his staff, digging into the dirt and skidding to a halt. There was nothing to see... but he had the eerie feeling that the mist five feet in front of him covered a steep and probably fatal drop.

Traveling those great distances was something that the Valendria witch had not been involved with for so long. Trascendence and flying seemed a better bonding for that gun fire explosion through realms. It was near an overwhelming visual to view but still those dark eyes tried to see everything and all. The nature of it felt off to her, ghost marked.

She struggled to find the ley line, it was like a blind nature of holding but it was claimed. She had expected to see the Mage but the witch could see nothing but the surreal moment around her. The line grasped seemed to sing through her like lightning and live wires but it was stability in chaos. She held and found her going closer, swifter to that tear.

She wasn't one to scream but the moment brought the witch to feel near a darker vision of alice in the rabbit hole. Her landing was not so graceful and not a rolling thing, a collapse of limbs, an awkward twist as she hit rock hard. Loose rock clattered, reminding her of fatal endings come so close. Shuddering a hand went through her hair. Mental note that short victorian dresses, boots and stockings were not traveling attire. "Silas?" Unmoving save for the lift of eyes that fog so thick she couldn't see him, had to wonder if they were separated and wrenched apart.

"...Over here!" Silas called after a pause, still orienting himself after the rough tumble. His staff helped to steady him as his fingers found purchase in the thick masses of roots in the soil, pulling himself up to the top of the hill. Thirty seconds in the realm and he was already a mess. "Are you okay, Lani?" He straightened up, then peered through the fog for her.

A spell would fix this, maybe...

"I believe so, oui." Wrists tore a rendering of pain through her that she had become ever used to even as she was still unexpecting of that soul burn it left on her. Fingers stretched before her, searching blindly. The bonding of their magic had brought them here. A whisper of words and her palm cupped, a glistening orb of witch light. "Are you?" She trailed towards his voice, searching. Tentative steps.

"Yes, I... I think so..." He sounded distracted, already slipping into thought. "...Hold on a moment..."

There was the sound of scratching in the ground, dragging a diagram in the turf with his staff, burning grass with the tip of it - then he whispered a word, and wind shot out in every direction from them, whipping their hair and chilling their faces. The strange fog cleared around them a dozen meters, then several dozen; then a final blast scattered it into separate clouds and shreds of mist that floated along the ground, revealing the vista before them --

Steep, grassy knolls all around with trickling streams passing through them, a tumultuous grey shoreline barely visible to the east, vast ruins to the north, the crumbling remains of old farmhouses and abandoned barns and warehouses before them... and strange, dark whispers, away towards the south, still hidden by fog. Silas steadied himself, leaning on his staff, and frowned at the south, ignoring the rest of their surroundings that seemed familiar enough to him. "...We are in the Barony, or the Barony's 'shadow' anyway... a terrible haunted stretch of it called the Estmore, populated by wights and wraiths in the world of the living."

He turned his head to look back at her, his eyes as serious and grave as they could be. "We shall see what form they choose in the land of the dead."

"We are in the dead lands then, cher?" Paths crossed, the broken remains of that which was the barony and not. The other side of a dark vision. Tousled mane of twilight and shadows with the fog chased away by magic. They had brought this on. Brought them here. Fingers reached out again as the witchlight snuffed out. Her fingers curled around his forearm. Rested there. "Estmore."

She looked to him for a moment, searching the sudden grave nature of those serious depths. Oh she knew well of the dead lands, the forgetten lands. How would it not be a surprise to find them again. Her eyes chased away shadows of worry that lingered as a memory. "This is our doing? To be brought here?"

Silas nodded slowly. "It was not my intention, Laniandra Valendria, to bring you here... but it was my intention to come here and follow the whispers to their source, and destroy the curse that haunts the Estmore. ...Until I do, leaving will be difficult. You can wait here if you like, or..."

His gaze strayed to the south again.

A shake of head. "The magic of our own joined brought us here. I was meant to join you on this journey. For now at least." He seemed so young to face such shadows and haunting curses. Then it might be the nature of the witch to seem much the same. "I would not leave you to take this on alone." South strayed her eyes. "Be time to unravel a curse." Perhaps such would break so many more.

"The southwest slope isn't too bad... come on..."

Time passed, perhaps a great deal of it, before the loudest whisper grew louder. They crested a hill, and as they approached, the thick fog parted before them... a mixed blessing. As their destination was revealed, so too were they, and a thousand bones rattled for a single moment as the skeletal creatures that patrolled around the sorce all halted, and so too did all the voices but one. The crumbling remains of a manor stood before them, vast, four stories tall, and imbued with a terrible power.

Silas released her hand, both of his tightening around his staff - he nodded towards the manor and instructed her, simply, "Run."

The dark manor was a looming beast. A vessel and a vortex and so much more. She knew as she felt it in her veins, in the spirit and haunt of her own energy. It called. Answered her own whispered calls. A step even as fingers tangled, rub of thumb along his knuckles. This she knew was what she must do.

Then they were there, those skeletons and she tensed. The fight or flight theory. "Silas." A whisper, a concerned warning. The unwilling nature to leave his side after this to be faced. Not a lack of faith in his ability but it was just not her way to leave those behind. A shake of head. A silent protest yet she listened. Fingers untangled from his as he curled them about the staff. Those same fingers touched to his jaw, a spark of energy. Power lending to his own. Twisting and intertwined again. Threadbare but there still for him. One look back and she ran as instructed for the manor.

And Silas was right on her heels, integrating the spark of her night energy and then sending it back out as a visible black pulse with a turn of his staff and two harsh, chanted words. Another turn, another word, and the pulse exploded into a sonic blast fifty feet behind them - the horrible undead warriors closing in behind them shattered, as more ahead of them attempted to cut them off. There was no time to prepare any more effective magick than that, and anything that strayed too close, he directed his staff at it and chanted another word in Norras - more pulses, these barely visible, rippled through the air, miniature shockwaves blasting them out of their way. The large wooden doors ahead of them were chained and bolted shut, he saw, as the manor loomed into view, and the chains bore runes...

"I need time!" Silas' manner had changed almost completely under pressure - his combat behavior was not clumsy or nervous, but decisive and serious. "Wards, summonings - anything you can do to buy us that time, I'd appreciate!"

Those doors she expected them to have some contemplation. Some nature of obstruction. She ran till she was near on the steps. All around her that energy spilled and exploded, making her eyes wild and sparkling. She turned on her heel, a wonder in her eyes at the sudden self assurance coming forth from Silas. A touch to his arm, before she was out there for the offering of distraction. The whispers assaulted her senses near to breaking her and she screamed those words in her head back at them.

The energy snapped like a broken cord of her spirit then as the ley line was searched for and found. She tore the energy from it and drew it into herself as a channel. Arms thrown out and away from her as her head was thrown back and that magic washed along her skin, gathered and summoned from her. Like building pressure of a band before it was snapped and released. That power rolled in waves from her as the gleam in dark eyes all but consumed in a dark moon glow as she wove those shadows around her, making the night energy of her power to seek and devour, distract and destroy.

The undead army bobbed and weaved, stumbled and fell, some distracted or wounded, others shattered as her dark magick performed its duties. It would have been an awesome show of power to witness, but unfortunately Silas Greyshott had his own work to conduct. His own arms spread wide, he faced the broad doors and Saw the enchantments that bound them shut. He murmured several of the words in reverse, committing their order to memory (their reverse order)...

Then he set his staff into the ground and began to chant, his words echoing in their air, and with each of them, a different set of runes began to glow. When the entire length of the chains criss-crossing the doors was alight, he uprooted his staff with a dramatic sweep of his arms, and in his and Lani's ears the whole world exploded.

Silas' ears still rang when he climbed uneasily to his feet, his vision swimming. The chains had effectively disintegrated, the doors reduced to a pile of dusty wooden scraps scattered every which way, and the warriors, for now, were still. The Voice was quiet, perhaps preparing for their arrival, directings its energy elsewhere...

Oh but the nature of his own magic would have been magnificent to watch in power. She struggled with keeping the power threads alive, tapping all those ley lines in close proximity. Her gaze narrowed down on those skeletons.

Those words were heard like a dangerous taunt. A warning echoed in her mind .And then the world exploded and she was thrown back, a grunt as she slammed into the steps leading to that dark manor. Phased she touched finger tips to her head. Exhaling sharply she watched those skeletons. Dark depths smoldered as she felt that silence in her head. It was a lonely feeling to have to be in her own head alone once more. A hard quiver of pain lanced through her shoulder blades even as she struggled to her feet again. "It is quiet now..." A whisper perhaps of the obvious but meaning more.

In centuries past, long before this lord and his twisted kin inhabited these halls, they had been a place of merriment, and as light and shadow danced on the walls, Silas fancied he could hear the celebration and laughter, lords and farmers alike sharing mead over the harvest, or the middle of the winter or summer... "...A pity it all fell to this," he spoke aloud, and another voice answered --

"I could not agree more, boy." It whistled and hissed, all cold wind and hard rain and no warm flesh to any of it, and Silas turned his staff towards the third floor landing, and a ray of light fell on an impossibly tall figure. He was well over two meters, dressed in black robes, old and dusty but somehow untouched by the inexorable Time. He was not all bones as those he summoned, but pale damp skin that stank of watery depths, slimy and stretched like wet paper, and two awful yellow eyes that sat too far forward in their sockets. Chains rattled at his hands and feet, and he gave them a grin of sharpened teeth.

"...Two more soldiers for the army... generals, one day, I think... Perhaps the living will leave these lands once more. What do you say?" But Silas did not say anything -- he had learned long ago not to interrupt monstrous villains when they monologued, even when invited, and instead take the time presented to take stock of the situation. As the light flickered, Silas noticed runes on them, much like those out front... very tricky to read and recite, but perhaps if one of them was given enough time... "Of course, in the end, you have no choice, for I am a Lord of the Dead, nearly a Lich, and none can escape the awesome power of Death..."

The horrid necromancer yammered on, and as he did, Silas leaned over to Lani and whispered, "Once I attack him, I need you to look at the runes on his chain, figure out the order, and read them in reverse... It will take some time, so I'll buy you as much as I can. Can you do that?"

She listened to the moments of monologue the commented claim of being the lord of the dead. It was in those moments that her wrists would ache a torment of pain. She saw what he had been through and her eyes were transfixed on the chains. Already she was understanding. Fingers curled at the banister as her head tipped back, spilling the twilight and shadow of her hair away from tear streaked features long since dried. Determined through it all. "Oui. I can do this." A breathless whisper, her lips barely to move. Her eyes had not moved from those chains. Their glowing claim.

Silas did not wait for the Necromancer to conclude his words - he struck out with a blast from his staff, and the Master of the Dead stumbled back only two steps and staid still. He waited until Silas drew close, curious about his opponent's state, then struck out with his chains that crackled with evil red magick, tossing the Mage ass over teakettle, sending him skidding along the stone landing to thump against the wall.

Down, but not out... Silas climbed back to his feet and went back into the fray, blue and white light flashing as he cast his own magick to defend against fierce, powerful strikes from the chains that bound the Necromancer.

A hiss of breath, worry lancing those dark depths of the night weaving witch as he hit the wall. Briefly distracted by his state before he was on his feet. She dared to move closer to those chains as fingers curled at the railing. Moon glow of her power seeming to paint her skin in energy's wash as her sights honed on those chains. Reading. Called out in reverse like a demure incantations. Dark eyes widened. That whisper was near a scream in her mind. She stumbled a moment. Jaw tightening as she continued to look on those runes, deciphered on the chains.

The Necromancer screamed and lashed out at her, realizing what she was doing as one of the chains on his arms evaporated, but Silas stepped into his path, nicked along the arm by the strike and putting his staff into the way - the chain wrapped around the knob of the staff, and the pair was thus locked together. Their eyes blazed, red and blue magick surging and colliding in the charged weapons, occasionally arcing out into the other. With every stray shock and strike Silas winced, but refused to release his hold. He dug his feet in and focused on drawing to himself whatever his foe had not already claimed for his own.

A wince as that scream near lanced through her mind she felt near caught between again at watching that struggle. Like a match in the dark the shadow energy unfurled from her. Pooled at her palms, spilling those coy tendrils that would ensnare and protect depending on the one she combated or looked after. Another step closer. Dark honey voice called out claimed in that twisting promise of breaking bonds. Unraveling curses as she read those runes, spoke them backwards. The struggle was felt, that death pull felt ensnared on her soul and she stumbled. Something once within her a part of her once had died. Eyes widened, fear lancing even as her murmurs became reconfirmed cries of the reverse call of those runes.

With the last rune spoken aloud, their marks glowed, then the rusty chains disintegrated, Silas jerked free and stumbled back again, smoke rising off of his frame from the dangerous exchange of energy, and red magick erupted in a vertical blast straight through the roof. It raced up into the sky, exploding in the clouds, and outside, the land of the dead ended its Hell, the curse ending, the spirits liberated from this horrible cycle of vengeance.

Bright blue spectres swept through the manor, screaming and howling as their bones collapsed and turned to dust far below. They raced off to their assigned fates, flashing out of sight, and then... the land was still. Quiet and peaceful.

They were on grassy turf among the mossy stone remains of a building long gone, where the manor once stood, and while fog swirled around them, it was diminishing.

The evil that had surrounded them was no more, and the backlash had returned them to the land of the living, in the Barony's Estmore.

It was a soul shaking revelation. The moment as she collapsed near exhausted with the events that all had taken place. This was the doing of their magic and now there was a sweet peace within her. She found her eyes lifted skyward where that red light once had been and now it was clear and beautiful. Fingers curled in the grassy turf.

She looked to him for a moment from that knelt position. Fingers rubbing at her wrists as her dark eyes were heavy laden with the weight of all that had surpassed. Still so tranquil she was as she looked to have found a moment of peace as her eyes sank in the presence of Estmore no longer cursed. She couldn't find the words. Head bowed then and she closed her eyes.

Silas himself was flat on his back, his own fingers closing on the grass, uprooting it, rolling it between his fingers. He sucked in sweet, living air, his pack, satchel, staff and wizard's hat scattered around him. The dark sky was above them, almost cloud-free, the stars all bright and beautiful...

"...We did it." He almost sounded surprised. Bells rang in the distance, some elements of their light-show apparently visible in this realm, militias assembling to investigate, but for a few minutes yet, they would have some peace.

((Credit where it's due - many thanks to the player of Lani Valendria for doing this scene with me!))