In one corner of the world, Asta and Usk arise in the morning to find a courier had left a small neatly folded piece of parchment for each of them. Miles away, the Macero siblings awaken to the same.  Each observes their name has been almost professionally inked on the flat surface. Their impression of the script style is that a woman of education must have inked your name neatly there.

Dear Friend,
I hope this letter finds you well. As Professor Lorrimor’s next of kin it is my humble duty to inform you of his passing. We will hold a funeral and small service for the dear Professor in four days hence. If you are able to make it we would love for you to be in attendance. I know the Professor would be happy to know his dearest friends were there to see him off. When you arrive, please make your way to Restlands where the funeral procession will begin.

Take care and be safe,
Kendra Lorrimor

Independently, each of the recipients have found themselves returning to Ravengro after a summons to attend the funeral of their old friend or mentor, Professor Petros Lorrimor. They all find their way to the Restlands, the local cemetery, where they finally get the opportunity to meet Kendra Lorrimor.

"Greetings, you must be friends of my father.  Thank you for coming."  Her red and puffy eyes convey her sadness at the passing of her of father.  She is dressed in a dark red dress that is very conservative and proper.  "I am so glad that some of his friends were dear enough to come out to bid him farewell; the townsfolk have not come out to show him any respect.  I know not what keeps them."  Looking around and back toward the town, Kendra turns her attention back to the only friends or colleagues to show up; the four mismatched attendees.  "Would you be so kind as to be the pallbearers to the grave site?"

The fine casket looks heavy; it has room for up to six pallbearers, and four is likely the minimum for smooth transportation.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Feel free to include any brief flashbacks of each character's time with the professor if you like, to help connect to the gravity of the moment.

---

This message was last edited by the GM at 03:03, Sun 02 Oct 2022.

The raven-haired changeling stared down at the identical letters in her hands, both open.  She shook her head in disbelief as she waited for her companion to join her.  The unmistakable footfalls of the Usk preceded the half-orc's descent down the stairs of the inn.  "Whatsat?" he asked, yellow eyes narrowing as he took a seat in the common room next to her.

Asta ignored his question, firing back one of her own.  "How do you know Petros?" she asked incredulously, shoving his copy of the letter across to him.

"Who? Wait, did you read my mail?" the Usk asked, taking up the parchment and quickly scanning its contents.  "Aw, no, Lorry's thread was cut," he muttered.

"You call Professor Petros Lorrimor 'Lorry?' Yes, he's died, but how did you know him?" Asta asked, thinking back on her own time with the recently deceased.

It was two or three years previous, and she had literally run into the man while they passed in the street.  As she muttered curses, the professor remarked on her nonhuman heritage, and inquired how much she knew about her mother, and others like her.  The changeling confirmed she probably knew more than most and was shocked when the man's next offer was one of employment.  Over the course of the next months, Lorrimor paid her to be his research assistant and local expert on the monstrous women called hags and their demihuman offspring.  Even after he departed, she could count on a monthly letter asking what more she had learned, and how her magical powers were developing.

She snapped out of her reverie, realizing the Usk had been speaking.  "Sorry, what?"

"I was asking if you remembered the story about that blue monster that attacked me?"   He waited for her to nod before continuing. "Well, then if you remember I got sick.  Almost died on the way back to civilization.  Laid up in a church to heal and I guess Lorry heard about the attack and dropped everything to come bother me.  Wouldn't leave me alone until I told him everything about it, bugged the priest watching over me about the sickness, made a real nuisance of himself."

"And that's it?  Why would he put you in his will?"

"Dunno.  Gonna go anyway.  Why'd he invite you?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The siblings Macero rode in the back of the wagon in silence, at least to anyone listening in.  The pair were engaged in a lively telepathic reminiscence about the late Professor.

<Tell me again about the time he almost drowned!> Mico insisted.  Her brother audibly sighed but relented to her demands.

<I was out the night before with our friend from Andoran, and was walking off the hangover before facing Mother and Father.  As I walked along the docks, I heard a man yelling for help.  I couldn't see him at first, so I walked closer to the water and saw a man splashing around with his backpack on.  Must've fallen of the gangplank.>

Mico laughed and Michus frowned.

<That doesn't seem right to laugh at.> he scolded, waiting until she composed herself before continuing.  <Anyway, I wasn't going to just let him die, so I prayed to the redeemer- he ignored the sickened face she feigned.  "cast a spell and dove in after him.  Thought we were both going under at first, but I got him to shore.>

<I still can't believe you brought a soaking wet Professor Lorrimor to our house!  I thought Mother was going to disown you for what you two did to the carpet.>  They shared a wry laugh.  <That was the start of the only good thing our parents ever did for me, paying the Professor to tutor me.  You're probably the real reason he agreed.>

<Hey now, you're a genius, and he's lucky to have worked with you.>

<I wish he still could.> she said and meant it, a rare sentiment indeed coming from Mico.  The silence that followed was total as the wagon trundled on.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Sorry 'bout your dad."
"I was gutted when I heard the news."
"May he find peace in the next world."

The quartet of mourners took their positions around the professor's coffin.

Kendra bows her head and murmurs thanks for the expressed sentiments.  "Father Grimburrow and his assistants are father's resting place.  We ought not keep them waiting."  The mismatched group lifts the fine coffin, and the Professor's daughter leads the way on the path at a stately, somber pace.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Pallbearers are considered to have both hands full.  Lowering the coffin gently is a full-round action, or it can be dropped roughly as a free action.

---

The graveyard is peaceful, but infected with the same dull tinge that seems ubiquitous in Ustalav.  Bright colors and clear light simply don't seem at home here.  After some moments of walking, the group can hear and see others approaching the funeral procession, a large group of villagers.  The more keen-eyed among the group spot cudgels and other simple weapons.

The group steps up, directly in the path of the funeral procession.  The man in front looks simultaneously sullen and resolved.  “That’s far enough. We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!”  Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. “What are you talking about?” she cries out. “I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been...”

The gruff man cuts in.  “You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.”  Kendra is visibly scandalized at the accusation. “Necromancy!? Are you really that ignorant?”

Even those in the group who are not socially inclined can understand that this situation is a powder keg, and it would be easy to get caught up in old resentments as outsiders.  Outsiders in Ustalav are a lot like bright colors; they aren't welcome, and rarely last long.