Boreas looks over the book, gently removing it from its box and opening it if he can without damaging it.  He scans the writing, quickly taking in the gist of the tome.

After a few moments, he looks up.

It looks like some kind of travel guide... to Fey'driel.  If we ever end up there, it might prove useful.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:01, Fri 03 Jan 2014.

Minotaur!  How odd. Maeve picks up the proffered volume and leafs through it.  They're by and large an oral people.  It's not often that you find actual books written in the language.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 332):

Shaw and the other Bluebands pace restlessly near the stump while the P.A.R.T.Y. prances around trying on clothing and reading long-lost books, clearly eager to receive their share of the loot and get on with the memorial services so they can take another stab at the vault.

In reply to DM (msg # 333):

Chubbs blows a wet raspberry at the Bluebands, then gurgles something.

I don't think they have the anatomy for that, Chubbs... and why would they want to?

Keef walks over to the charm bracelet and taps it with the Everstaff.

Zuriel reluctantly holds out the chalice, disliking having to rely on the Everstaff. "If you would, please, Keef?"

It would be worse to accidentally pass on a dangerous item to Mi'driel, though.

Maeve walks idly around the clearing flipping through the pages of the book, brow furrowed in concentration.  The more she reads, the deeper the furrows grow.

This is. . . . . .interesting, she says to the group at large. Seems that this book is called "Pest Control" and is a guide on how to exterminate underground gnome colonies.  Some fairly ingenious methods, I must say.

Maeve holds up the book to show an illustration of an elaborate setup for ensnaring gnomes. [OOC: Looks a lot like a Rube Goldberg machine.]

And there's more here. . . . something about Grelklic, not sure what that is. . . .oh look, a section of gnomish recipes. . . .Oh.  Maeve's face turns slightly green as she contemplates a really quite detailed and anatomically correct drawing of "roasted gnome with saffron rice and stuffed dates."

I don't suppose you fellows have a gnome problem, do you?

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 336):

Keef holds up the bracelet, Ooh, this is really something!  It's a portable... well a MORE portable charm bracelet of charms... in which the charms are charms I mean... each one has a charge of magical potential which once invoked can produce a magical effect.  An anchor, self-evident, bird for sending messages, fan for wind, a bird-boat... I think Lady Endeen had one of those and Sir Greenheart got to ride in it!  Also a powerful seed that can produce a great oak... just like a regular seed but faster, and a whip too!

Finally, Keef taps the Chalice.

In reply to Keef (msg # 337):

Oooh, how lovely! Lyriel looks at the charm bracelet, grinning from ear to ear as she twirls about in her now midnight blue dress with a spray of tiny silver stars running throughout the fabric. It would match perfectly! She giggles...I can match my dress to ANYTHING, this is the best!

Zuriel smiles at Lyriel's delight, captivated as she twirls in her new dress. He finally manages to tear his gaze away, packing the books back into the Bookshelf of Holding while he waits for Keef to describe the properties of the chalice.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 338):

That's a useful skill indeed, Lyriel, Maeve says with a smile as she watches her friend delight in her new dress/mail.  You're guaranteed to never be caught at a party wearing the same thing as someone else!

She then begins to ponder the more serious question of what items to give to the mages.

As far as I am concerned, Shaw, you're welcome to this book, Maeve says, indicating the book on gnomes, Not sure that it's going to do us much good.  Though I suppose the same could be said for you. Hmm.

If the others consent, I would be happy to leave this interesting bracelet with you for study. It would seem that it holds within it many different types of magic. Or perhaps the chalice, depending on its properties. Maeve turns expectantly toward Keef and, without batting an eye, shucks her leather breastplate and strips down to the soft tunic she wears under it in order to try on the spectral breastplate.  It looks rather too large for her, but she has a feeling that it will fit as if crafted specifically for her figure.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:09, Fri 03 Jan 2014.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 340):

Well, this is a filling vase... only we didn't put flowers in it so... filling chalice.  Five times a day it will fill with whatever we want: water, wine, blood, acid, toner, ink, red ink, scummy water, wort, blue ink...

Lyriel gazes longingly at her charm bracelet before sighing. She takes it off and hands it to Zuriel, nodding to him.

I suppose it *is* rather frou frou, after all. Not exactly my style.

Zuriel smiles in appreciation as Keef explains the chalice. He accepts the bracelet from Lyriel, noting the reluctance with which she surrenders her bounty.

He glances over at Shaw. "Shaw, I think you'll find this charm bracelet to be a more varied artifact to study. It looks like it contains quite a few discrete enchantments. You're welcome to it in friendship."

The paladin extends the bracelet to the new leader of Mid'riel.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:03, Sat 04 Jan 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 343):

Shaw accepts the bracelet gracefully, studying it for a moment before slipping it into one of his belt's many pouches.

"You have our thanks," he smiles.  "Now then, where do you want to do the memorial service?"

"Out here, in the open, I should think," Zuriel responds. He turns to his fellow PARTY members. "While you guys are making preparations for Giles' memorial, I need to go back down there. For Trish."

He walks over to Lyriel and speaks to her quietly. "I think, given the circumstances, that a funeral pyre is in order. I couldn't bury her like...like Giles left her." His breath catches with emotion, and it's clear that though the paladin is composed on the surface, he still feels responsible for the wild elf's death.

Zuriel returns to the stump that serves as the entrance to the grounds below, and solemnly begins his grim descent.

Take it with our goodwill, Maeve says as Shaw examines the bracelet briefly, yet curiously.  No doubt there's much to be learned from it.

As for the memorial, I don't know if you have any desire or inclination to stay for it.  You didn't know Trish--well, none of us did really--and I don't know what your thoughts were regarding Giles.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 346):

Shaw blinks at Maeve's comment, then turns toward the other Bluebands.

"If we're not welcome, so be it.  We have a vault to explore."

With that, Shaw, Quinn, and Charles descend into the stump and return toward the menagerie, passing Zuriel along the way without a sound.

I didn't mean that we wanted you to leave, just that-- Maeve begins to say, but the mages are already well on their way to attempt the vault.

Hmph.  Some courtesy.

Well then. . . .shall we do this thing?

Zuriel descends once again into the vault that has become a tomb for so many, alone with his thoughts.

So much death, and to what end?

He is interrupted from his reverie by the arrival of the three Mid'riel mages. He acknowledges them with a brief nod as they pass by.

Four fewer deaths than there could have been but...still far too many.

The mages are soon out of sight and hearing, leaving the paladin once more in the utter darkness of the crypt. Despite the complete lack of light, Zuriel has no trouble finding his way to the intersection that has become the final resting place for the wild elf he knew so briefly. Her scattered and desecrated remains stand out in the gloom like beacons, burning into his vision.

He stares at the carnage solemnly, forcing himself to take in the grisly scene.

This...this is what I'm fighting. This is what I stand against. The evil that lies in the hearts of us all, no matter how noble we might be.

Zuriel looks once again into Trish's eyes, until so recently full of life and laughter. A detached part of him recognizes that he only knew the woman for less than 24 hours, yet her death affected him on a much deeper level than that of a simple soldier fallen in battle.

I suppose...it's what she represented. Of all the elves from the forest, she was the only one who truly seemed at ease in the presence of Lyriel and I...

He sighs, fighting back tears. It was the hope she represented, that our people might not need to live in enmity. I think...that's what my uncle understood. And why he was cast out. Banished for wanting to make amends. For challenging the supremacy of Hae'driel as 'true' civilization.

Moving past the intersection, he descends further into the complex, making for the kitchen. Once there, he surveys the equipment. After a quick search, he locates a small chest full of cookware, which he empties onto the ground with a clatter. From the pantry, he selects an earthenware urn full of salt, which he also empties out before stashing in his pouch.

This should be sufficient.

He hefts the chest out of the kitchen, and back to the intersection. Slowly and respectfully, he begins the grim task of gathering what remains he could find strewn about the hallways and placing them in the chest. After what seems like an eternity, Zuriel has filled the chest with all the remains he could find. He closes the lit with a bang that resonates throughout the complex with a dark finality. Hefting the now much heavier chest, he begins the trek back to the sunlight, and Trish's waiting funeral pyre.

From the darkness an arrow hisses, remnants of a trap laid by Giles. Burdened by the chest, Zuriel has no way to block the bolt, and it burrows itself in his side with a thud. The paladin gasps in pain, but does not drop the chest. Blood begins to pour from the wound, trickling down to mix with the gore already covering him. His steps falter and his breath catches. Summoning an inner reserve of strength, the paladin's eyes flash white, twin flares in the blackness. The arrow falls out of his side with a clatter, and the blood flow stops.

A final parting gift from Sir Giles Thistleworth...

He continues along the path to the surface without further incident, emerging blinking into the afternoon sunlight. Silently, he takes the chest over to where Lyriel has gathered wood, laid in the pattern suitable for Tassada's funeral cremation rites. He places the chest, unopened, onto the pyre.

I don't know which god or goddess you worshiped, but I pray that your soul will find some peace. I'm sorry that when it came to it, in the end...I could not save you.

As Lyriel says the ritual words, Zuriel takes a lit brand and places it into the center of the pyre. Flames ignite with a whoosh as the oil-soaked branches catch, and the paladin steps back a few paces, kneeling before the flames.

For a long while he stares into the blaze, entirely oblivious to the world around him, as flames leap upward into the sky, erasing the remnants of the wild elf maiden's horrific end.

"Farewell, Trish." he says aloud, voice thick with emotion. The raging column of flame blurs and distorts as the paladin's eyes fill with tears having nothing at all to do with the smoke-filled air.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:38, Sat 04 Jan 2014.

Boreas stares silently at the funeral proceedings, unsure what to say.

Trish's death is certainly a tragedy, but I didn't know her.  She deserves this much, though.

But Giles... I hear he was a great hero once.  I never knew that man...

He watches as the flames lick at the chest, consuming it as they climb into the night sky.

Maeve watches in solemn silence as Zuriel and Lyriel perform the funeral rites for Trish, not entirely sure what to say given that her entire acquaintance with Trish consists of finding her severed head and mangled remains.

Godspeed Trish, wherever you may be.

Lyriel begins gathering wood as Zuriel descends into the dungeon, laying dead branches in the pattern proscribed by the Church's funeral rites. She isn't sure what will be left to burn, but the funeral seemed exceedingly important to Zuriel, so she didn't protest.

Perhaps laying her to rest will help him move forward. He can't keep taking it so personally whenever somebody dies. This wasn't even remotely his fault.

Gathering and laying out the wood takes some time, and Lyriel is just finishing as Zuriel emerges, gore-stained and carrying a large wooden chest, from the vault. She opens her mouth to say something, but the look on the paladin's face stops her short, and she keeps her peace. Suddenly she remembers she is still wearing her blue and black dress, patterned with the stars of huge night sky, and her face reddens. Oh this isn't appropriate at all, how could I be so insensitive?

Concentrating for a moment, the dress changes cut and color, becoming a simple black satin mourning dress far more suitable for a funeral. The only concession to color or finery she allows is an emerald mantle, befitting her role as performer of Trish's last rites. Zuriel places the chest, which Lyriel assumes contains Trish, in the center of the wooden branches. She begins the rituals, which do not take much time. At the end, she lights a wooden brand, which she passes to Zuriel, who solemnly places it in the fire before stepping back.

Time passes wordlessly as the all consuming flames ignite and lick over the chest. May her soul find peace. Tassada knows I didn't approve of her...antics...but nobody deserves such an end. Nobody.

Seeing Zuriel's suffering as he regards the pyre nearly moves her to tears of her own, and she places a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. When he shows no reaction, she lets her hand fall to her side and backs away, leaving him to his thoughts as the funeral pyre burns itself into embers.

Zuriel stares a long while into the embers, waiting for the flames to die down. By the time the fire banks low, the first evening stars are becoming visible in the fading light. Once the ashes cool sufficiently, Zuriel leans into the center of the fire, where the skeleton of the chest is still visible through the coals. He scoops up ashes, wincing as his fingers catch on a few stray embers, filling the earthenware urn with what is left of Trish on the Material Plane.

He stands up, eyes red, and tucks the urn into his pouch.

"We don't have a body for Giles...so there aren't really any rites to perform. Does somebody want to start?"

Even with his ultimate end and redemption, I don't think I could trust myself to speak of his memory. Not when Trish's ashes aren't even cold.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:27, Mon 06 Jan 2014.

Maeve clears her throat.

I didn't care for Giles. . . but I would like to think that, had I known him before his. . .condition came upon him, that we could have been friends.  He was brave, albeit stupid, in battle.  And he recognized the potential for heroism in Keef.  I think that, somewhere deep inside, he truly wanted to change what he had become.  And I will respect him for that.

She falls quiet.

That's all I have to say.

Boreas remains silent.

The man... beast... whatever he was held a special grudge for me.  I'm still not sure why, but I don't trust myself to say anything at his memorial.  I suppose the man he once was deserves to be remembered.