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Description
This is a new character of mine, Sister Nightshade, a dhampir (half-human, half-vampire) death cleric.

I used the Daz program to render this scene, and edited it with Photo Affinity 2. The base for her was G8, with the body shape actually morph-sculpted and the head a combo of morphs and various characters I like. The base skin was Claudina's, which I used Skin Builder to add some features to, and then of course the face paint, makeup, and such. The hair is Biomorph Beauty hair, and the wardrobe is a mashup of Iron Scale and Dragon Guard armors. The environment was from the Burned Lands HDRI package.

As a bonus, I wrote a complete background for her with as a lead in for her joining a group of fellow adventures, that those of you who are familiar with Ravenloft will recognize many elements of. I'm not sure how a party would feel having a creepy death priest hanging with them, but then again, why not have a cleric who knows funeral rights really well for when they screwup?

Introducing Sister Nightshade

I walked quickly through the hallowed halls of the Sanctuary, my raven companion Reyik fussing the whole while. Every once in a while I passed one of my sisters, but they did not acknowledge my presence – no matter, as I have learned that in my role as a priestess of the gods of death, people avoid me whenever possible. In one hand I carried the scroll high priest Dormas had bestowed upon me. I had been unwavering in the one condition on me leaving the Sanctuary – I had wanted a scroll of truth telling and would settle for no less. I could tell he would eventually give in, as I have a knack for reading people, so I simply stared at him as he recited the various reasons he could not give one to me. When he did give in, he solicited a promise that I never return; I do not enjoy the popularity of curate Edrin, the priest that trained me. It did not matter to me – I would have this one last conversation with father and then into the world for me.

I caught one of the guards half-asleep as I entered the older section of the Sanctuary, and Revik was kind enough to say ‘Lazy’ loud enough to make the guard jump. He straightened his helm as he rose, and then came the stutters I have become accustomed to.

“Sister Night…err…Sister Sathren, I did not expect” he began.

I raised one hand and said,

“It is priestess now. Worry not, I have no interest in exposing your laxness. I wish to speak to my father alone.”

He nodded, and led me through the more dangerous portions of the complex. The guard was accustomed to my visits by now – I came at least once a month to talk to father, hoping to pin down what was truth and what was fancy.

Northum. That was the guard’s name. It came to me as he unlocked the door and opened it for me. He reminded me of the rules, though I suspect that help would be late coming if I ever did have a problem. I entered and immediately recited the words on the scroll, invoking its magic to compel truth. This roused my father, who watched with a vacant look on his face. He muttered something as the ritual came to an end, and Revik repeated his words, “Just as untrusting as her mother.”

“Father,” I began, “You have to admit your story is rather fantastical, even for Faerun. And your condition does not provide confidence that your accounting of my origins is accurate. High priest Dormas has bestowed a scroll to me, allowing me to discern whether or not you are being truthful. Now why don’t you tell me the story again, for old times’ sake?”

A broad grin worked across his face – “Yes, yes, the story – and a fine story it is. Once upon a time, there was a powerful creature named Count Strahd von Zarovich who ruled the lands of Ravenloft from his cold castle. Rarely did he make an appearance, but his minions often did, and were a plague upon us good folk. I heard that a rare beauty named Irenia was kidnapped by Strahd to be his bride from another village, but somehow he was thwarted. I don’t know what happened to her or the people who went against him, but I clearly recall what followed.

Strahd began seeking a replacement after a time. A beautiful women would disappear from one of our villages every once in a while – not so many as to cause an outcry, but enough to be noticed if one was foolish enough to comment on it. I had found Vasharath myself, and your mother was as beautiful as her name was long. Her eyes were like amber, her hair the color of golden thread, and her mood was always happy and carefree, such that one could not help but feel buoyed when she was near. I begged her to conceal herself when out and about – she only laughed at me, saying that she doubted the great Strahd von Zarovich would take an interest in her. How wrong she was.

One day, she disappeared while tending to rancher Morlis’ cows – she loved tending to animals, you see. We all knew where she was, but the others were cowards. If it had been anyone else, I would have been, too, but I loved your mother more than life itself, and decided I would prove it.

I hired a band of desperate adventurers with coin I had stashed and the promise of far more. I knew I would never have to pay it, as they would not survive the castle’s horrors. When they stole into Strahd’s castle one way, I scaled the walls to the second floor and began my search.

I was truly in luck that night, or so I thought. The adventurers proved to have more mettle than Strahd anticipated, and they forced him to retreat and call his minions. I raced from room to room, searching, while they fought wave after wave of undead monsters and worse. And wonders of wonders, I found her. Asleep as if drugged, wearing a gown and jewels worth more than what I’d earn in a decade of work.

Somehow, I managed to get her out of there. I still don’t know how I climbed the outside of his castle that day – perhaps the screams of the adventurers being torn apart spurred me on. I went as far as I could that day, and on into the night. I knew if I stopped, he would be after me. Eventually, I could run no more. I didn’t even start a fire or make camp – I just collapsed into a pile next to your mother.

We woke up that morning, and the next, and the one after as we made our way back to the village. She was thoughtful – and not in a happy way, rather she was distant as we traveled. She thanked me, but instead of feeling buoyed or hopeful, I felt that some impending dread was coming down upon us. I am stupid, but not that stupid; I tested your mother in various ways to see if she was an undead monster, a doppleganger, perhaps even a vicious werebeast, and when I managed to determine she was indeed human, my mood fell even more.

She let me fuss over her, but as much as I had fought for her, somehow it seemed her shine was gone. Still, I had cast the dice and intended to play them as long as they held. We reached our village and after a brief courtship, we married. She reminded me often of a life I took away from her, a life she told me was beyond my understanding. Despite her anger, she was a dutiful wife, though I was surprised she was with child after our very first coupling.

That child was you, and you grew quite quickly. It was almost as if she was already pregnant – and I think I knew this all along. She died having you, and only the midwife and I knew why. When you were born, I think the strain caused you to tear her from within. There was blood everywhere, and you had fangs and your eyes – your eyes were Strahd’s. I knew it as I looked upon you, yet I loved you anyway.

I was fearful you would be one of the undead, but you were not. I managed to conceal your otherworldly features, and luckily you learned how to retract your fangs. Other than that, you were as any other child, although your predilection with death and attitude towards you marked you as different enough that the other children avoided you.

Then one night – I think you were four at the time – a visitor came to town. A burly gypsy, one of the vistani, accosted me in the inn, telling me that Strahd would be coming in a weeks’ time to take what was his, and that your only hope lay with them. We kicked him out of our village, which was easy enough as most everyone hates and mistrusts the vistani. I don’t know why I reacted so, but in time I realized there was truth to what he said.

I bundled you up three nights later as the full moon rose. I hoped to navigate the wilderness to their camp without the aid of a lantern, as I realized that Strahd’s creatures would see the light and investigate. When you calmly took my hand and guided me to them, I wasn’t surprised – nothing surprises me anymore.

Their elder, Madam Lavinia, took us in. She turned the cards for you and was ecstatic as one turned after the other. I had heard these people were calm and collected, but not only was she excited, but they gathered around us and shouted as each card followed the first. I know it meant something to them, something very special. They were all smiles and were drinking heavily already and the reading became almost a festive sport. As her gnarled fingers rested on the last card, there was a chuckle from the darkness and the gypsies gasped as one and turned towards the intrusion.

Stepping into the firelight was Count Strahd himself. He brought friends as well, it seemed a wall of glowing red eyes stared from around us out of the darkness. He smiled as he approached, saying,

“Like any good servants, you have brought this one to your master, have you not? You would not deny a father his child, would you?”

She spat at him, and said in her old, dried-up voice,

“Lord no more. This one will grow to supplant you, this child of death you have made. She will learn our ways, know our laws. You have no power over her. Let us continue to serve, and she will take over when it is time.”

He smiled again, and pointed to the last card that was turned downward. I was actually surprised we were still alive, and what I assumed to be a pack of werewolves growled hungrily around us.

“Is that so? Well, turn the last card then. Let us see what us see what the Threads of Fate tell us. As I understand it, Madam Lavinia, you can read other’s fates in the cards but not your own. Go ahead, turn it.”

I could not tell if her hand shook from palsy or fear as she reached out and began turning the card. One of the vistani decided he would take advantage of the situation and hurled his knife at Strahd. I unfortunately had turned to see this happening and missed whatever card the vistani were gasping at as one. Everything began happening so slowly, yet when each moment came it was gone like magic.

Werewolves fell upon the vistani, along with other creatures – ghouls perhaps, that had crept up during the exchange. Madam Lavinia grabbed you by the waist and ran into the darkness, with me on her heels. As we ran through the forest, more than once I saw the thin forms of ghouls try to intercept her, but luck was not with them that night. Some tripped on stones, others were felled as they leaped over logs into overhanging tree branches, still others actually ran into each other and managed to knock each other out.

We reached a shallow stream, and she was having trouble fording it. I took you from her and helped her across. She smiled at me, an unsettling toothless smile that promised suffering.

“Would you do anything for her?” she asked.

I couldn’t answer, only look into those eyes cloudy with disease.

“He cannot cross the stream but will come the other way around. Strahd and his minions will find her no matter where you go, as long as you remain within Barovia. Madam Lavinia has a solution though, but the cost must be borne by you.”

She produced a knife from under her cloak and slashed my arm. I cried out in surprise and went to strike her, but when I lifted my arm I saw the blood flowing outward and into the air. I watched in amazement, you in indifference, as the blood formed an oval outline in the air just tall and wide enough for me to fit through. Beyond was a lazy farm unfettered by the night.

She laughed to herself, and pushed me towards the arcane gateway. In truth, she could no more move a dragon than me so weak and enfeebled this woman was, but the howls in the distance gave me reason to trust her. I leapt through and blinked in the bright sunlight of this new world and the gate snapped shut behind me with a thunderous boom.

The rest, I think you know. I changed then – something happened when I crossed over and I have never been the same. They keep me here, locked up. Sathren, what I have I done? I fear I have blood on my hands, but I had to protect you. He’s after you, and the people are not people – they are agents of Strahd. I had to kill them! I had to!”

This was the part I hated, when he became violent. Always when he told his story, I saw a glimmer of who he must have been long ago, but now, he was nothing more than a maniac that would attack anyone but me.

I was confident when he lunged towards me – I did not even flinch. Unfortunately, I was not his target. He grabbed my erstwhile companion Revik and twisted his head off as Revik cawed out, “Crazy bird!” As always, Revik’s death was accompanied by a miniature explosion of feathers and shadow. No matter, I would summon the spirit again later.

As he walked around his cell, shouting and screaming, pounding on the door, I reflected. I had hoped to gain his insight on my abduction, but the madness reached him before I did. The priests tell me one night soon after they began teaching me I disappeared and was gone for over a month. When I returned, I had a mark on my stomach, centered around my naval, my hair was whitened, and my eyes were had changed to an otherworldly black color – in essence, not human, although I can pass for one at a distance. Edrin claimed it was a sign from Kelemvor, the god of death, and that I must be trained as a priestess. They relented to his claim – I believe some of them would have gladly locked me up with father.

As I grew up among the faithful, I was shunned. As they learned how to tend to flowers and heal beasts, I learned obscure funerary rites. They sang joyous songs to Eldath, were trained to fight for Tyr, and took part in holy rituals for Siamorph, and read books for Denier. The rituals I learned were private and final, the books I read had sketches of dead bodies and spoke of funerary wrappings. They called light, I called death. I would be the last person before those I tend to leave this world. I would be the one who speaks with the spirits for wisdom. I would be the one who calls a final death to both the living and those that would cheat it.

I had hoped that I would find some falsehood, some hint that what had happened was not true, that I was something beyond what the gods has laid out for me. I had hoped that I might smell a flower and be pleased with the scent, or whisper sweet nothings into a lover’s ear as we watch the sunrise, or perhaps even be able to enjoy mead and seeing the deaths of those around me in visions. Instead, my lot is to escort the deserving to their fate, and perhaps help the underserving avoid theirs until it is their time. Now that I know that his tale is true, I know that I am both life and death – the beginning and then the end, for I am Sister Nightshade, and all shall partake of me once in their lifetime.

The guard Northum let me out. I wondered how much he had overheard. No matter, they are afraid of what I am. I made my way out of their remote Sanctuary, never to return. There was no sendoff, no goodbyes, no well wishes, only somber men and women watching me walk through the Sanctuary’s halls alone, never to return.

I told myself that it didn’t matter and took to the road. Food and lodging would be easy enough to obtain – no one would refuse a priestess a night’s stay, even a dark one like myself. I had heard there was trouble in a town a week’s travel eastward. I shouldered my pack, which contains my meager belongings, and headed in that direction.

Description
This is a new character of mine, Sister Nightshade, a dhampir (half-human, half-vampire) death cleric.

I used the Daz program to render this scene, and edited it with Photo Affinity 2. The base for her was G8, with the body shape actually morph-sculpted and the head a combo of morphs and various characters I like. The base skin was Claudina's, which I used Skin Builder to add some features to, and then of course the face paint, makeup, and such. The hair is Biomorph Beauty hair, and the wardrobe is a mashup of Iron Scale and Dragon Guard armors. The environment was from the Burned Lands HDRI package.

As a bonus, I wrote a complete background for her with as a lead in for her joining a group of fellow adventures, that those of you who are familiar with Ravenloft will recognize many elements of. I'm not sure how a party would feel having a creepy death priest hanging with them, but then again, why not have a cleric who knows funeral rights really well for when they screwup?

Introducing Sister Nightshade

I walked quickly through the hallowed halls of the Sanctuary, my raven companion Reyik fussing the whole while. Every once in a while I passed one of my sisters, but they did not acknowledge my presence – no matter, as I have learned that in my role as a priestess of the gods of death, people avoid me whenever possible. In one hand I carried the scroll high priest Dormas had bestowed upon me. I had been unwavering in the one condition on me leaving the Sanctuary – I had wanted a scroll of truth telling and would settle for no less. I could tell he would eventually give in, as I have a knack for reading people, so I simply stared at him as he recited the various reasons he could not give one to me. When he did give in, he solicited a promise that I never return; I do not enjoy the popularity of curate Edrin, the priest that trained me. It did not matter to me – I would have this one last conversation with father and then into the world for me.

I caught one of the guards half-asleep as I entered the older section of the Sanctuary, and Revik was kind enough to say ‘Lazy’ loud enough to make the guard jump. He straightened his helm as he rose, and then came the stutters I have become accustomed to.

“Sister Night…err…Sister Sathren, I did not expect” he began.

I raised one hand and said,

“It is priestess now. Worry not, I have no interest in exposing your laxness. I wish to speak to my father alone.”

He nodded, and led me through the more dangerous portions of the complex. The guard was accustomed to my visits by now – I came at least once a month to talk to father, hoping to pin down what was truth and what was fancy.

Northum. That was the guard’s name. It came to me as he unlocked the door and opened it for me. He reminded me of the rules, though I suspect that help would be late coming if I ever did have a problem. I entered and immediately recited the words on the scroll, invoking its magic to compel truth. This roused my father, who watched with a vacant look on his face. He muttered something as the ritual came to an end, and Revik repeated his words, “Just as untrusting as her mother.”

“Father,” I began, “You have to admit your story is rather fantastical, even for Faerun. And your condition does not provide confidence that your accounting of my origins is accurate. High priest Dormas has bestowed a scroll to me, allowing me to discern whether or not you are being truthful. Now why don’t you tell me the story again, for old times’ sake?”

A broad grin worked across his face – “Yes, yes, the story – and a fine story it is. Once upon a time, there was a powerful creature named Count Strahd von Zarovich who ruled the lands of Ravenloft from his cold castle. Rarely did he make an appearance, but his minions often did, and were a plague upon us good folk. I heard that a rare beauty named Irenia was kidnapped by Strahd to be his bride from another village, but somehow he was thwarted. I don’t know what happened to her or the people who went against him, but I clearly recall what followed.

Strahd began seeking a replacement after a time. A beautiful women would disappear from one of our villages every once in a while – not so many as to cause an outcry, but enough to be noticed if one was foolish enough to comment on it. I had found Vasharath myself, and your mother was as beautiful as her name was long. Her eyes were like amber, her hair the color of golden thread, and her mood was always happy and carefree, such that one could not help but feel buoyed when she was near. I begged her to conceal herself when out and about – she only laughed at me, saying that she doubted the great Strahd von Zarovich would take an interest in her. How wrong she was.

One day, she disappeared while tending to rancher Morlis’ cows – she loved tending to animals, you see. We all knew where she was, but the others were cowards. If it had been anyone else, I would have been, too, but I loved your mother more than life itself, and decided I would prove it.

I hired a band of desperate adventurers with coin I had stashed and the promise of far more. I knew I would never have to pay it, as they would not survive the castle’s horrors. When they stole into Strahd’s castle one way, I scaled the walls to the second floor and began my search.

I was truly in luck that night, or so I thought. The adventurers proved to have more mettle than Strahd anticipated, and they forced him to retreat and call his minions. I raced from room to room, searching, while they fought wave after wave of undead monsters and worse. And wonders of wonders, I found her. Asleep as if drugged, wearing a gown and jewels worth more than what I’d earn in a decade of work.

Somehow, I managed to get her out of there. I still don’t know how I climbed the outside of his castle that day – perhaps the screams of the adventurers being torn apart spurred me on. I went as far as I could that day, and on into the night. I knew if I stopped, he would be after me. Eventually, I could run no more. I didn’t even start a fire or make camp – I just collapsed into a pile next to your mother.

We woke up that morning, and the next, and the one after as we made our way back to the village. She was thoughtful – and not in a happy way, rather she was distant as we traveled. She thanked me, but instead of feeling buoyed or hopeful, I felt that some impending dread was coming down upon us. I am stupid, but not that stupid; I tested your mother in various ways to see if she was an undead monster, a doppleganger, perhaps even a vicious werebeast, and when I managed to determine she was indeed human, my mood fell even more.

She let me fuss over her, but as much as I had fought for her, somehow it seemed her shine was gone. Still, I had cast the dice and intended to play them as long as they held. We reached our village and after a brief courtship, we married. She reminded me often of a life I took away from her, a life she told me was beyond my understanding. Despite her anger, she was a dutiful wife, though I was surprised she was with child after our very first coupling.

That child was you, and you grew quite quickly. It was almost as if she was already pregnant – and I think I knew this all along. She died having you, and only the midwife and I knew why. When you were born, I think the strain caused you to tear her from within. There was blood everywhere, and you had fangs and your eyes – your eyes were Strahd’s. I knew it as I looked upon you, yet I loved you anyway.

I was fearful you would be one of the undead, but you were not. I managed to conceal your otherworldly features, and luckily you learned how to retract your fangs. Other than that, you were as any other child, although your predilection with death and attitude towards you marked you as different enough that the other children avoided you.

Then one night – I think you were four at the time – a visitor came to town. A burly gypsy, one of the vistani, accosted me in the inn, telling me that Strahd would be coming in a weeks’ time to take what was his, and that your only hope lay with them. We kicked him out of our village, which was easy enough as most everyone hates and mistrusts the vistani. I don’t know why I reacted so, but in time I realized there was truth to what he said.

I bundled you up three nights later as the full moon rose. I hoped to navigate the wilderness to their camp without the aid of a lantern, as I realized that Strahd’s creatures would see the light and investigate. When you calmly took my hand and guided me to them, I wasn’t surprised – nothing surprises me anymore.

Their elder, Madam Lavinia, took us in. She turned the cards for you and was ecstatic as one turned after the other. I had heard these people were calm and collected, but not only was she excited, but they gathered around us and shouted as each card followed the first. I know it meant something to them, something very special. They were all smiles and were drinking heavily already and the reading became almost a festive sport. As her gnarled fingers rested on the last card, there was a chuckle from the darkness and the gypsies gasped as one and turned towards the intrusion.

Stepping into the firelight was Count Strahd himself. He brought friends as well, it seemed a wall of glowing red eyes stared from around us out of the darkness. He smiled as he approached, saying,

“Like any good servants, you have brought this one to your master, have you not? You would not deny a father his child, would you?”

She spat at him, and said in her old, dried-up voice,

“Lord no more. This one will grow to supplant you, this child of death you have made. She will learn our ways, know our laws. You have no power over her. Let us continue to serve, and she will take over when it is time.”

He smiled again, and pointed to the last card that was turned downward. I was actually surprised we were still alive, and what I assumed to be a pack of werewolves growled hungrily around us.

“Is that so? Well, turn the last card then. Let us see what us see what the Threads of Fate tell us. As I understand it, Madam Lavinia, you can read other’s fates in the cards but not your own. Go ahead, turn it.”

I could not tell if her hand shook from palsy or fear as she reached out and began turning the card. One of the vistani decided he would take advantage of the situation and hurled his knife at Strahd. I unfortunately had turned to see this happening and missed whatever card the vistani were gasping at as one. Everything began happening so slowly, yet when each moment came it was gone like magic.

Werewolves fell upon the vistani, along with other creatures – ghouls perhaps, that had crept up during the exchange. Madam Lavinia grabbed you by the waist and ran into the darkness, with me on her heels. As we ran through the forest, more than once I saw the thin forms of ghouls try to intercept her, but luck was not with them that night. Some tripped on stones, others were felled as they leaped over logs into overhanging tree branches, still others actually ran into each other and managed to knock each other out.

We reached a shallow stream, and she was having trouble fording it. I took you from her and helped her across. She smiled at me, an unsettling toothless smile that promised suffering.

“Would you do anything for her?” she asked.

I couldn’t answer, only look into those eyes cloudy with disease.

“He cannot cross the stream but will come the other way around. Strahd and his minions will find her no matter where you go, as long as you remain within Barovia. Madam Lavinia has a solution though, but the cost must be borne by you.”

She produced a knife from under her cloak and slashed my arm. I cried out in surprise and went to strike her, but when I lifted my arm I saw the blood flowing outward and into the air. I watched in amazement, you in indifference, as the blood formed an oval outline in the air just tall and wide enough for me to fit through. Beyond was a lazy farm unfettered by the night.

She laughed to herself, and pushed me towards the arcane gateway. In truth, she could no more move a dragon than me so weak and enfeebled this woman was, but the howls in the distance gave me reason to trust her. I leapt through and blinked in the bright sunlight of this new world and the gate snapped shut behind me with a thunderous boom.

The rest, I think you know. I changed then – something happened when I crossed over and I have never been the same. They keep me here, locked up. Sathren, what I have I done? I fear I have blood on my hands, but I had to protect you. He’s after you, and the people are not people – they are agents of Strahd. I had to kill them! I had to!”

This was the part I hated, when he became violent. Always when he told his story, I saw a glimmer of who he must have been long ago, but now, he was nothing more than a maniac that would attack anyone but me.

I was confident when he lunged towards me – I did not even flinch. Unfortunately, I was not his target. He grabbed my erstwhile companion Revik and twisted his head off as Revik cawed out, “Crazy bird!” As always, Revik’s death was accompanied by a miniature explosion of feathers and shadow. No matter, I would summon the spirit again later.

As he walked around his cell, shouting and screaming, pounding on the door, I reflected. I had hoped to gain his insight on my abduction, but the madness reached him before I did. The priests tell me one night soon after they began teaching me I disappeared and was gone for over a month. When I returned, I had a mark on my stomach, centered around my naval, my hair was whitened, and my eyes were had changed to an otherworldly black color – in essence, not human, although I can pass for one at a distance. Edrin claimed it was a sign from Kelemvor, the god of death, and that I must be trained as a priestess. They relented to his claim – I believe some of them would have gladly locked me up with father.

As I grew up among the faithful, I was shunned. As they learned how to tend to flowers and heal beasts, I learned obscure funerary rites. They sang joyous songs to Eldath, were trained to fight for Tyr, and took part in holy rituals for Siamorph, and read books for Denier. The rituals I learned were private and final, the books I read had sketches of dead bodies and spoke of funerary wrappings. They called light, I called death. I would be the last person before those I tend to leave this world. I would be the one who speaks with the spirits for wisdom. I would be the one who calls a final death to both the living and those that would cheat it.

I had hoped that I would find some falsehood, some hint that what had happened was not true, that I was something beyond what the gods has laid out for me. I had hoped that I might smell a flower and be pleased with the scent, or whisper sweet nothings into a lover’s ear as we watch the sunrise, or perhaps even be able to enjoy mead and seeing the deaths of those around me in visions. Instead, my lot is to escort the deserving to their fate, and perhaps help the underserving avoid theirs until it is their time. Now that I know that his tale is true, I know that I am both life and death – the beginning and then the end, for I am Sister Nightshade, and all shall partake of me once in their lifetime.

The guard Northum let me out. I wondered how much he had overheard. No matter, they are afraid of what I am. I made my way out of their remote Sanctuary, never to return. There was no sendoff, no goodbyes, no well wishes, only somber men and women watching me walk through the Sanctuary’s halls alone, never to return.

I told myself that it didn’t matter and took to the road. Food and lodging would be easy enough to obtain – no one would refuse a priestess a night’s stay, even a dark one like myself. I had heard there was trouble in a town a week’s travel eastward. I shouldered my pack, which contains my meager belongings, and headed in that direction.