Umbra

Your loyal servant Umbra has returned to your throne room, and the circumstances that bring her here are unusual indeed: she has failed. Sent on a mission to retrieve the Sword of Dawn from its remote resting place, she instead let it slip into the hands of some idiot hero, who now walks the lands in defiance of your great power. She kneels before you, her long white hair spilling over the cold stone floor as she admits her shame.

"My lord, I come before you with no excuse. I set forth with my skill, your loyal followers, and your magical instruments, and your task still slipped through my fingers."

The magical light of your lanterns gleams off of her white cape, highlighting her dark skin. Her piercing grey eyes look up at you imploringly, tracing up your figure as you relax on the throne emblazoned with the seal of your empire.

"I remain your faithful servant, and submit to your judgement. Would you send me to correct my mistake, I would eagerly ride forth this very day. But would you decide that you must punish me- then I would accept that too, and only ask that my lord perform the duty himself."

One of her hands clutches her sword in its scabbard. For some reason, she's crossing her fingers on it.

The city of Crystalmire is quiet, peaceful, prosperous. It is by your good grace that it remains this way: the rulers submitted to the might of your empire long ago. But if the reports from your scouts are true, and the so-called hero with a stolen sword really hides within its walls, then its residents might very well might feel the extent of your displeasure.

You see Umbra conferring with one of her troops. She dismisses him, and walks over to where you stand, on a bluff overlooking the city. Her white her and cape flow in the breeze as she approaches.

"The messengers have returned, my lord. The guards will not obstruct our entry into the city, and the citizenry are unaware of our approach. The raid may commence as planned."

She pauses, standing by your side as you look down on the quaint little town, considering your approach. Her face is as stoic as ever; wooden, even.

"If I might suggest, my lord, perhaps we could try a more subtle approach. Patronize the city, so as not to scare off the quarry. This is a popular city with travelers, so a casual, relaxed trip would work as excellent camouflage. Sticking together so as to draw less attention, of course. The current mayor would welcome us, perhaps to one of his famous starlit dinners. Together."

The heroes grow bolder, now actually striking at one of your strongholds. The fortress of Steel Shard was your northernmost vanguard, and now it stands in ruins, victim of an unexpected assault. The incompetent fools who allowed it have already been disciplined- now you need concern yourself with restoring the fortress.

Umbra strides out to meet you on one of the outer walls, unfazed by the cold despite her light attire. She bows her head in deference, clutching several rolls of parchment in one hand.

"My lord, I've collected an assessment of the damage from the workers. The battlements remain intact, as do the guard quarters, and the outer gate can be repaired with minimal concern. The bulk of the damage was confined to the main halls and dungeons."

She shuffles through the parchments, then looks toward the shattered remnants of the keep with a calculating expression.

"I would be happy to supervise the task of restoring your living quarters, my lord. Perhaps something a bit more domestic, a floral cottage theme perhaps. For the sake of comfort, your greatness."

The fight against the heroes plaguing your empire grows more frenzied by the week. This has not gone unnoticed by your subjects. Some respond with actual defiance, which you deal with accordingly. Some, more loyal subjects, respond differently.

"My lord. May I present Her Holiness, the Archpriestess Celia Aum, of Marah."

Umbra stands to the side, letting her escort and your new guest enter your war room. Archpriestess Aum is an imposing woman, her tall figure made more statuesque by the blood-red miter on her short blonde hair, and the high heels in her iron boots. But neither those, nor her scarlet-painted iron corset, nor the flagellant whip on her belt, are as ominous as the small smile on her painted lips. She bows politely before your seat at the war table.

"My dear, dear lord. I greet you warmly, and come offering all the aid my land can muster. I come offering all the assistance of the church, my own prodigious skill in blood magic, and all the other... talents that I hold dear." She reaches out, and imprudently traces a line down your jaw with one finger. "You may be free to 'use' me however you see fit, my lord."

Umbra's mouth is a long, hard line as she watches the Archpriestess touch you. "Your Holiness, let us not unduly bother our lord. Lord, shall we discuss the impending siege on the rebel castle?"

"Your words mean nothing, cur!"

The storm rages mightily overhead as you stand atop your great tower, eyes locked with the hero as she clutches the Sword of Dawn in defiance. Lightning crackles overhead, fueled by both the power of nature and the magical machinations of your fortress. Umbra's white hair and cape billow in the gale as she faces the hero on your behalf, her own sword drawn and her eyes blazing with fury.

"How dare you! How dare you intrude upon his palace, how dare you even breathe the same air as he! Every word an insult, you ungrateful dog!"

Umbra dives in with a breakneck slash of her sword. The resulting clash is a flurry of lightning-fast blows and parries, the sound nearly drowning out the thunder overhead. Umbra grimaces as she locks swords with the hero.

"Upon my body, upon my soul, upon my gods, upon my oaths, upon every mortal possession I have held in my own two hands, I swear that as long as the sun continues to wheel across the sky I will not let you take the man I love away from me!"

Umbra strides into your throne room confidently, her cape swishing behind her, the magical light gleaming off of her pauldrons. She kneels deferentially before your, her grey eyes shining with anticipation.

"My lord. I was told that you have a new assignment for me? Rest assured that I am, as always, but an extension of your will."

She speaks the truth, of course. You cannot imagine an assignment you could give her that she would not carry out with enthusiasm and deadly skill.