Epilogue

"Halt, Kelemvor."

The darkly robed figure's expression was unreadable behind the silver death mask that hid its face. "Uncommonly direct, Sehanine," its flat, passionless voice whispered. "Why do You interrupt Me?"

The darkness gradually faded to a thick, misty grey – a featureless plain of nothingness, lacking both sky and ground. The swirl of mist and fog half-hid the elven woman within. She was beautiful and young, with long and glimmering silver hair. A sheer, see-through dress made of little more than moonlight itself did little to hide her feminine charms.

"You are far from the City of Death," she informed the dark figure. "You walk a foreign land."

"In search of My subject." The grey, pupilless eyes may have shifted to the limp, translucent rag that he grasped with his skeletal hand, but it was impossible to tell. In his other he held a shadowy black mist that dragged like tattered silk through the ether. "She belongs to Me."

"That claim is not without contest."

"Speak Your mind, Moonbow. I have no time for games."

"Death has little else save time," she responded softly. "She is beholden unto Us."

The bone hand lifted, raising the lighter of his burdens into the air. "This is no elf. The Seldarine have no claim."

"Our blood has mixed with hers."

The tattered black robes shifted impatiently. "Speak plainly. You try My patience."

"It is not in Sehanine's nature to speak plainly, as You well know," a male voice chided. An elderly, grey-bearded elven man manifested from the cloud of mist, solidifying at the woman's right-hand side.

The death mask bowed slightly. "Enoreth."

"Kelemvor." A matching bow from the ancient sage. "Sehanine speaks the truth: she holds Our essence."

"It is a human soul."

"Tainted by the blood of Murder."

"Who was Himself once human, and who now is dead – and thus a subject of My realm." He waved the two aside with a motion of the skeletal arm. "Let Me pass."