Departing Vetici

We're stepping into something both unknown and awful ; the future is looking grim and unpromising, though I'm doing what I can to remain cheerful and to bolster the group. Hopeful, optimistic Cinamon.
Leaving Port Vetici was like stepping from a dream. The real world caught up with me all at once, and I realized that the idyll we had lived in - Zafira included - had come to an end. My heart broke a little for Al - all that work, the fulfillment of a long-held dream, a quiet and satisfying avocation, and then gone, so quickly. At least she retains control of the business, but I know a part of her risks wilting if her clothes aren't dusted with flour, if the beds of her fingernails aren't encrusted with dried dough. Hopefully, the crude campfires will suffice for quickbreads, enough to tide over the soul of a baker.
And I doubt we'll win over a figure like Garlic where we're going. Or meet as sweet a child as Fiona.
I've been where we're going; it almost killed me. Creatures out of the Shadowfell, roaming undead - and that was decades ago. Nothing's improved since then - Zhi made that clear when last she summoned me to her, after I hastily snatched Zafira's soul. Reminded me that I've twice crossed an unforgiving god.
 
When we reached Cellis, I felt small again for the first time in months. Vulnerable. Exposed. Leaving Broken Wing with Grey was incredibly hard, in that too-bright city scented by gardens and suffused with strangers and unknown magic. And then the temple - in my nervousness, in my awkwardness, I shared more with a stranger than I should have. But it's been so long since I said the familiar words: Mortis complexus, Mortis dimissio. So long since being near the calming presence of a Doom Guide, a class of acolyte I'd often encounter in my work - I was too open, too trusting, too reminded of a different life. And of course, the long-familiar and comforting presence of a Shadar-kai, his skin as cold as mine. Though there was nothing comforting in what Driel shared with me - bad tidings from Rokkurveldi. Rising fundamentalism among the Krumidara - always already a problem even in Dimmadül - and whispers of something he called Draudur Skuggi (the Raven Queen's follower's were never big on subtlety, that's for sure - imagine the hubris of naming yourself Death's Shadow. I wonder what She thinks of it all, if She even notices - perhaps She's encouraging it...I wonder what my mother would think of all this, if she would even recognize the increasingly distant strain of worship on this continent...I wonder if the shame I've brought to her will ever wash away). Zhi had mentioned that name, too. We're in for trouble, it seems certain. How is Myelo involved in this? What is he getting Greylyn into? She doesn't deserve any of this. Maybe I *should* reach out to Zhi...
 
How to keep Grey safe? She was scared and angry and overwhelmed last night, and there was so little comfort I could give her. I gave her my promises, every one I could - and I'm terrified I'll fail. Oath-breaker, indeed - I've made and broken these same promises before, to another woman, in another bedroom, in a life long dead. I couldn't have more completely failed then, and I'm terrified I'll fail again. I just have to be stronger, somehow. And can't let her know that I've quailed before, broken a covenant, ruined a love.
 
Time again to do what I was trained for - to project a calm confidence I don't feel. Be the High Accompanist, even if I am again escorting companions towards death.