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... aurel’s voice echoed from the spectre that hovered in the centre of the obscuring cloud of mist created by the Commune with Spirits spell. Ghostly eyes filled with rage glared at him, baleful and red. Tyron folded his arms across his chest.

“You went after a Necromancer in the hopes of getting some coin, Laurel. You knew what might happen.”

You have no reason to keep me. Set me free.

Freedom had always been the deepest of Laurel’s desires. She didn’t want to be controlled ...

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“You have chosen the talent, Complete Poison Immunity.”

“At age 24, you were killed during the monsters’ attack.”

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“You have chosen the talent, Restlessness.”

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