Re: Chapter #7h: The Rite Stuff
Before anyone could react to further questions or conversations, the crowd quieted as a procession of six acolytes brought three symbolic cypress coffins down an aisle between the benches in the center of the square. The dead were already prepared for their burial and would be interred later that evening after the final sacrament. There were just too many to display all the caskets publicly for the ceremony.
Also, there was some thought that having people dwell on how many of their fellow citizens were dead might not be the best thing for morale.
While the acolytes brought their somber burdens before the dais, four more acolytes, two on each side of the square, each carrying a torch, walked down the outside of the crowd, lighting unlit torches in tall sconces that had been placed there for the ceremony. In the darkening evening, the flickering light of the torch-fire cast a solemn, thoughtful light on the proceedings.
After the torches were lit and the caskets were placed, the ten acolytes, each dressed in the formal robes of their deity, took their place in a line before the dais. They clasped their hands and bowed their hooded heads. For a moment, a hush fell over the crowd. The evening sea breeze whipped through the square, causing the torch flames to dance about. The distant crash of sea billows emphasized the sober quiet.
Then Father Zantus, the only one seated on the dais, stood and moved to the podium, the front of which was decorated with a circular tabard displaying the sigils of each god known to be worshipped in Sandpoint.
He began to speak.
“You may wonder whether one man can fully express our grief and sorrow at the loss of our fellow citizens.” Father Zantus had clearly trained in public speaking; his words carried to the edges of the crowd without difficulty, and his voice took on a richer and deeper timbre than it normally possessed. “You may wonder whether one man can fully encapsulate or salve the pain experienced by the mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, sons, and daughters of those who have fallen. And to that unasked question I respond: no. No one man can do all those things. And I will not try.”
He fell silent for a moment, head bent, as if contemplating the dead.
“Those who have died over the past week are heroes. The first casualties of a war unasked for and unprovoked, they unfairly suffered the brunt of our enemies’ malice. But their deaths were not in vain! Sandpoint stands prepared today because of their sacrifice.” He fell silent again.
“I do not have to tell you that Sandpoint is a special place to live. Our administration,” he nodded to Mayor Deverin, seated in the front row, “favors the many instead of the few. We afford equal justice,” now a nod to Sir Jasper, “in the matter of private differences. Far from seething over each other with jealousy, the citizens of Sandpoint greet each other with the cheer and brotherhood of equals. You know I speak the truth because you experience it daily.”
“Brothers and sisters . . . “ He paused, as if thinking. “I call you brothers and sisters, for that is what you are. Our current situation has thrown this fact into stark relief. We are all brothers and sisters to each other. You can see it here.” He gestured over to the Boneyard. “Lord Kaijitsu, a noble, lies next to Arvil Barksen, a glassworker. Aral Nizt, a Sczarni, lies next to Dacen Kresk, our youngest guardsman. They are brothers, bound in death.”
Father Zantus looked up, a fire in his eyes. “The goblins make no distinction between us, and neither should we. We stand shoulder to shoulder together, defending each other, protecting each other, and swearing that our brothers shall not fall while we still stand!”
“So our ceremony today,” the cleric stretched out an arm toward the cypress coffins, “is not one for strangers; it is for family. Do not doubt that each person who has given their life for Sandpoint is your family, and you are theirs. The goblins have taken family from all of us. And to that I say, and I lift my voice to the goblins now,” the chief priest’s voice rose into a crescendo, “that we will give of our family NO MORE. That these sacrifices will be the LAST taken from Sandpoint unprepared, and that any further loss will be bought at a cost too dear for the goblins to bear!”
The feeling in the crowd was electric.
“Brothers and sisters, never doubt that the gods are watching out for us. I cannot share the details, but I know for certain that they have their eyes on us, and they have put their hands over our town, shielding it and protecting it.” He looked down at the caskets. “We have lost too many. But they are not gone; they are merely waiting.” His voice choked up. “The gods have welcomed each of our brothers and sisters into their presence with open arms and celebrations. For they are finally home, away from the burdens and travails of this world. They wait for us, my friends. They wait for us to join them in the afterlife.”
He took a deep breath. “But I hope you will join me, my brothers and sisters. Join me, and Lieutenant Barett, and Mayor Deverin, and the Guard, and the heroes Kellan, and Liseth, and Pisca, and Cato, and Kerr, in telling the goblins, and whoever else will listen,” his voice rose again, until it was almost a shout, “that they will have to wait just a little longer!”
A murmur of agreement swept through the crowd.
“My friends,” he lowered his voice again, “it is my prayer for all of us that we will go to the afterlife from our beds, after living long lives, surrounded by those we love. But if some of us are called away over the next few days, know that the gods are waiting for you with open arms and a welcome-home celebration,” he gestured again at the caskets, “just as they were for our brothers and sisters.”
He raised one hand. “I ask for the gods’ blessing upon our departed brothers and sisters. I ask for the gods’ blessing upon you. And I ask for their blessing upon Sandpoint.” He paused, bowed his head, then raised it again, looking out upon the assembled citizenry. “Go with the gods, my friends. Because they assuredly go with you.”
With that final benediction, Father Zantus descended from the dais to bless each of the caskets. The acolytes then formed up, two in front, two to each casket, and two behind. Father Zantus then led them down the center aisle, blessing those in the crowd as he passed. When he reached the back of the crowd, he led the procession back up the stairs and through the cathedral doors, which two sextons held open. The sextons closed the doors as the final acolyte passed through.
For a moment, there was silence. The somber mood continued, and people began to get up and make their way back to their homes with a minimum of conversation.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:21, Sat 26 July 2014.