[Center of Town]

“Tonight. Sunset seems a fitting time. Prepare as you will,” Sundos looked up, his attention drawn by two ravens flying hastily toward the top of the hill. Then, he looked back at Simon. “You have the afternoon for whatever arrangements you must make. Then, meet me at the Temple.”

Simon felt a sense of affirmation for his intention when he noticed the ravens, too.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:24, Tue 01 Feb 2022.

[Centre of Town]

Sskith made a grasping motion with his hand, flicking his tongue in and out uncertainly.

"Do we not leave for the hunt?"

He growled at last, looking to the others who had walked with him.

Tempest nodded and looked at the sun judging the time, she sighed. As Seth spoke, she shook her head. "Not yet. First we honor the dead."

Shge started walking a little way away to the wall, and looked over the edge of town.

Sskith blinked once under his cowl, though none saw the gesture. So these Scaleless had respect for the fallen, that was a good sign. Thus far, he had shown them his throat, and they had answered in kind. Learning of Sesskrith's offspring had been a blow, and he would have traded his tail to have a chance to speak with the Matriarch Kri'ki about the paths he now saw open before him. He did not have that wisdom with him now though, and could rely only on what he had brought with him.

"It issss good, to do such thingsss right."

He answered in his gravelly tones, falling silently behind the group as they began their procession.

These were certainly interesting people to find himself among, thought Beijor. Powerful, certainly, to have broken a coven; brash, if the genasi was representative; and yet… Lenelle was innocent of many things, and this Simon had thought the name his parents bestowed him was a truename… his agreement with Twigbit aside, these were people who would provide him with grist for the muses, ere time caught up with him.

He decided to accompany them to this funeral, if just to hear the warrior’s life sung. Ahhhhh, to be silent and listen! A joy beyond counting to a minstrel.

Glancing at the saurian, he reminded himself not to mention his collection of scaled boots and vests, and followed the rest to holy ground.

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch’s funeral]

The afternoon passed too quickly, leaving several of the party feeling as though there simply weren’t enough hours in the day. Brother Sundos & Sister Mercion planned the funeral ceremony. Sheila bathed and prepared Azatch’s body with help from Tara, Sprinkle, and Bathsheba. During the afternoon, Lenelle sought out Joshua, Laredon, and anyone else who might have known Azatch in his youth. The eager responses from the people of Deadwater moved Lenelle. Simon undertook the ritual of summoning his own familiar. As Gwyl The Owl fussed when Simon made a mistake, and hooted when he got it right, the Warlock felt his decision validated. Tempest walked near the riverbank, alone with her thoughts.

Just before sunset, Brother Sundos signaled the beginning of the funeral. Sheila and Tara  followed Mercion’s instructions for finding flowers with protective powers. All in attendance wore brightly colored flower necklaces and crowns woven by the two witches, if they so willed. Since Sundos actually knew Azatch, Sister Mercion allowed him to officiate. She led a procession around the property, guiding the pallbearers (Grog, Joshua, Connor, & Simon) eastward, emulating the progress of the Sun the Priestess worshipped. The procession circled three times, before the pallbearers placed Azatch’s body atop a pyre.

Soon, Sundos motioned everyone to gather in a semicircle facing the body…

Bedecked in the flower crown and necklace made by Sheila and Tara, Lenelle stood in solemn attendance, watching the procession.  She'd come prepared with a handkerchief, knowing that she would shed tears for this unlikely and surprisingly dear comrade.

Half-elf and half-orc:   a list of differences separated the two.  But there were some few and profound things held in common; and those had led her to feel a degree of kinship with Azatch.

Only heightened when he'd charged out into the swamp, to rescue her from the enormous crocodile.   No one would have looked upon Azatch, and likened him to the dashing heroes portrayed in the fables and lays.  But in heart - beneath the gruffness and sometimes very real savagery - that was exactly what Azatch had been...

Tears spilled onto her cheeks, as she watched his body arrayed for the fire, for this final and ultimate journey...

Farewell comrade, and courageous heart!  Whatever things brought you happiness in life, I pray will abound for you in the halls and fields of Heaven...

“In the creation of the world, Pelor told us, ‘I bring you the dawn, and so I must also bring you the dusk.’ So it is with life and death, and so it is with our fallen brother, Azatch.” Sundos walked a smaller circle as he spoke, imitating the procession from earlier with one pass. When he stopped, Sundos faced the gathered mourners.

“Brother Azatch saw the sunrise of his life here in Deadwater. So it comes to pass that he met the sunset of his life here, too. Heroically, defending us all, against a great evil. For his selflessness, I know the Sun Father will welcome Azatch into his feast hall. I cannot think of a greater reward for a man who gave more to the world than it had ever given him. As the sun sets over Deadwater, let it bear Azatch into the Sun Father’s house.”

Sundos walked over to the pyre that held Azatch’s body. He lit the torch, the flames quickly licking the platform. Nearby, Mercion stood with Sheila, Cloteel, and several townswomen that our heroes had not yet met. The Priestess led the women in ritual keening for Azatch as the flames consumed his lifeless shell.

Simon watched silently as the flames of the pyre slowly consumed the platform on which the body of his comrade lay.

~If not for Azatch, that could be me, or one of the others. or even more than one of us.~

"A truer warrior and a nobler spirit I have never met."

Tara hadn't known Azatch long, not like the others, but still, it was a loss, and she felt it.  Felt the sadness and mourning the others felt, as well.  Azatch had been a valiant warrior, and surely deserved a better end...

She wore the flowers, of course, and bowed her head respectfully.  On her shoulder, Gwyll did the same.  And perhaps the next world would be kind to Azatch... surely it would, wouldn't it?  His deeds had been good; his death, valiant.  That would surely satisfy whatever gods he followed...

Sprinkle stood near her sister, the resemblance unmistakable. She had accepted a crown of flower and garland, and listened attentively to Brother Sundos. She hadn't known the half orc, hadn't even known such a race existed before today.

And what a day it had been. Transported halfway across the world after learning they were related to a greater Elemental figure, emerging from a sacred well, asked to help the servant of another greater Elemental... only to figure out that they had to fight a black dragon. Then the rush to create the protective salve and this funeral... and she had not yet figured where she would stay tonight. Or eat. Her breakfast was starting to be very far away.

With the flames of the funeral pyre burning bright, she created the image she had been practicing with a too cheerful halfling. Azarth seemed to rise from the flame, look at the assembly, smiling, before saluting all around and raising in the air, for as high as she could maintain the illusion. A few gasps and renewed crying clearly demonstrated how his passing had an impact on this community, and she smiled, hoping she had permitted to a few of the onlookers to say a final goodbye.

As the pyre started to crumble under its own weight, she approached Tempest and put a hand on her sibling's shoulder.

What's wrong, Sis?

Tempest wandered the outskirts of town for a time, in her own thoughts of what had happened. A mere day ago, herself and her sister were far away, just about to meet a shop owner, hounded by thugs - something she could help with.

...something she could fight.

Now she was here, having traveled through a well at the aide of a greater elemental (Which turned out to be family), only to face a great evil. Ordinarily she would be thrilled at the thought, but with the gaining of information, she found herself pushing boundaries.

Now she stood at the side of a pyre, of a warrior, from what people told, someone pure of heart and instinct. Now with him gone, it would seem that her skills were needed in his place - would her skills be enough? When her sister spoke, she answered in the primordal language softly.

She drew her dagger and stepped forward, drawing it across her hand, and grasping an item, familiar to all here - what little was left of Azatch's weapon. She smeared her blood on the handle, then tossed it in the fire.

"I never knew you, but a warriors spirit must be acknowledged. May your weapon be ever sharp, and may your spirit find peace. On my blood and bond, i will help your friends defeat this evil."

with hand dripping blood still, she stepped back beside her sister.

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch’s funeral]

Staying the respectful distance from the mourners, Telric watched the proceedings. Granted he had no idea who the deceased was, but the turn out suggested they had been cared for in life. On the ship, Telric had been to more than a few burials at sea. It was a ritual for the living crew, not for the dead who were beyond caring.

Expect for those blasted undead pirates...bloody pirates. He thought. Telric did not know which one was worse, the breathing kind of pirate or the other.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:04, Thu 03 Feb 2022.

For contrast!

---

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch's funeral]

Beijor stayed quiet, but he was beginning to get uncomfortable at the silence. How would his spirit enter the Beyond that awaited him, if his departure went unheralded by songs of his deeds in life? He'd be a pauper spirit, unknown and restless, paid little heed there because those who knew him best paid him little either.

Shifting from side to side, he hoped whatever his friends were saying in the silence of their hearts echoed louder beyond.

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch’s funeral[

Sheila stepped toward the east end of the burning pyre with Bathsheba & Clo. Together, they sang a tune praising Azatch’s life and deeds. They sang of his humble beginnings in the village, his voyage on The Swanmay, saving Lenelle from the crocodile, facing the Deathlock, fighting the Coven, and bravely facing the Dragon in the end. Although their voices weren’t vocally as enthralling as Beijor, the trio still sounded sweet to the ear.

Their song ended with this verse:


“Flowers die, kinsmen die
we all must one day die;
I know one thing which never dies:
the reputation of a brave man.”


Again, the women joined Mercion in a final keening to mourn the passing of Azatch.

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch's funeral]

Sskith remained quiet, standing near the Priestess Lenelle.

These were not his people, yet his people would need to learn to live with them if they were to survive this new world. Not because they were weak, but because these people were strong. If they had slain Byrsiss Blackfang, they were strong indeed. He would need to tread carefully, for the footprints he left would fill the stories of generations.

If there were any left to sing them.

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch's funeral]

Cela's been fairly quiet since the newcomers showed up at the gate, but she is visibly present at the funeral, mourning for her shipmate.  She'd understood Azatch a little better than some of the other crew on the Swanmay, since they both knew about being treated poorly by humans.

When Sheila comes away from the pyre after her song, Cela puts her hand on her shoulder and thanks her.

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch's funeral]

From the house of the sun father, a commotion could be heard. The stomping of grog could be heard with the muttering of a familiar voice. Grog appeared with a squirming and all to familiar frown of a conscious Skye. Close behind, the boar known as spit walked, looking up at her master.

Skye looked to most, like near death. Her raw skin was still red, but all other skin was pale, her eyes looked weary, but held the usual fire as she moved about. “Damnit grog, I coulda walked you know….it’s just outside.” The Minotaur stopped and put her down, the halfling wincing and swaying a bit. Grog went to catch her, but she slapped his hand away with a frown.

…typical skye.

She stood there, looking at the Pyre, her hard demeanor dropping and showing true sorrow. “Damnit big man…you had to be the hero! “ A tear rolled down her eye as she nodded, at the pyre. “You were a stubborn ass fool, a man of few words….I liked you azatch. This world will sorely miss you.”

She stood a moment longer, then dropped to a knee, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming her again.

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch’s funeral]

Mercion knelt beside Skye. “Your intent honors Azatch. Surely Pelor hears us, and prepares a worthy feast for him this night.” The blonde Cleric held out the clay mug filled with the water Skye had some to know only too well in recent days. “Here. Drink and let the Sacred Waters give you the strength you need.”


OOC:

20:12, Today: Mercion rolled 8 using 1d8.  Sacred Water.

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch's funeral]




Sheila laid her hand on Cela’s furred hand. “My dear one, I just hope that Azatch’s spirit wasn’t offended by my croaking.” The older woman flashed a self-effacing smile. “Let’s get you a plate of Bathsheba’s prawns you’ve come to love so! We honor Azatch with a repast, and the toasts we’ll all make to him.”

Skye smiles, obviously still in pain and took a sip. She nodded as Grog sat her on a log, letting pockets wrap a blanket around her with a half hearted scowl

Telric, sensing a mornful quiet, decides on something he could do other than just stand there. Reaching into his pouch, he pulls together a few clockwork devices and produces something that looks like a mix between a bag and artificial lung.

After pressing a few buttons on the gizmo, music starts coming out of it. It's really a recording device that copies sounds and plays then back later. This one duplicates the accordian tune of mourning often played as shipmates are buried at sea.

"You never heard Azatch sing on the ship.  It was really awful.

Yes, let's go to the Spit.  He'd have liked that."

[Outside the House of The Sun Father, Azatch’s funeral]

The flames licked the pyre, burning the sticks and the warrior’s corpse into ash. As the funeral fires ebbed, the crowd slowly dispersed. Many accepted Sheila’s invitation to The Sulphur’s Spit for food and drinks. Mercion softly prayed for Azatch’s spirit, then politely ushered anyone lingering toward the stairs. Grog snorted, or perhaps that was a sniffle for his fallen brother-in-arms.

As people broke into pairs and trios, the mood seemed bittersweet, but hopeful. The service moved the hearts of people in attendance, including our heroes. Perhaps the wake at the Spit would unburden any hearts laden with sorrow. The grounds outside the Temple were quiet, unusually so.

Quiet except for the persistent squawking of a raven flying toward Simon!

"That he would, Cela. I'll be along in a moment."

Truth be told, as someone who abstained from alcohol, Simon found most taverns to be annoying. Too many drunken louts making fools of themselves. Often his companions were among their number. But tonight it made sense.

Simon watched as the pyre finally burned down. Grog was still there too.

~Brothers-in-arms. That's what warriors call it. Fighting with blades, they all know their luck will run out one day.~ he thought to himself.

The warlock turned toward the Spit, when his consciousness was assaulted by a single thought, DANGER!

Simon froze in place, allowing the agitated raven to settle near him. Nimbus! What is it? Where is it?