The dead burn with a fire all their own. A blue etherical flame. Corpse candles the deadspeakers called them. Today's world is ever built upon the graves of the centuries bygone. The dull background roar of the departed always welled up in the peripheral of Mezolene's vision. An animal now extinct was buried twenty feet in the deep stone of the cavern. A pile of rat carcasses devoured by the flying predators that frequented the cave lit the eastern corner of the cave. And the slavers bodies smoldered with a bright fresh mist of ectoplasm, irridescent and confused.<br/><br/>This was how she always saw the world.<br/><br/>So it hardly bore any mention in her daily conversation, given that she knew no other way to see. It was only of interest now, because the marshland that had been vomited up from the wasteland's guts was untouched. She did not take this to mean there was no dead. That would be just silly. Death was as certain as sun rise. It did mean however that the spiritual residue one might expect from the departed were snuffed out or... worse.<br/><br/>This engendered a small spark of terror in her. It was sadly, no match for her more pressing need. If there was one thing she feared more than death, it was boredom. Point of fact there were MANY things she feared more than death, but boredom was at the top of the list. She didn't believe in the Djela or at least didn't believe the stories were even close to accurate. We paint our villains bigger and more wicked with each retelling. It was human nature. She nodded to the Starscale, "... I suppose my trip can be postponed."<br/><br/>She had just been lecturing a dead man on synchronicity. Sometimes, events collided. Improbable coincidence was only improbable from the wrong angle. Unless of course, one believed in the gods. She had never had much time for it. Gnawing fetchingly on her lip, Mezolene giggled ever so softly. The woman had an appalling tendancy not to blink enough, this making others eyes water and blink out of sympathy for her. It had only worsened now that she had something to focus on, "I am always keen to help, but I was under the impression the Djela were something to be avoid, Monsieur Fasken."