Spugnoir adjusts his oiled cloak and wide-brimmed hat. He would have preferred to wear his good suit but the weather turned foul and now he was even more miserable.
Drying his hands with a cloth, Spugnoir hobbled up to Kendra. My deepest condolences Miss Lorrimor, your father was a very generous man and helped me a great deal.
"Thank you very much." Miss Lorrimor replies politely. She tries to not let her disconcertment show about this green hunchbacked man. Her father had all kinds of friends but this man is strange even considering her fathers blindness to such differences. "He was a great man indeed." she adds thinking about her fathers ability to see the person behind the surface.
Under a tree near the group stands a traveler. A clean shaven man with strong features in his early 30s. While not overly tall for a human, he has quite a stocky build. Dark hair frames a face with deep smile lines and dark gentle eyes.
He wears light colored robes with a scimitar belted to his hip, the holy symbol of Sarenrae around his neck and a large pack on his back. The bottom of his robes are mud splattered and hang short of the ground revealing scale leggings and brown leather boots which are also coated in mud.
A fitting day for a funeral. It appears I have not arrived too late.
He looks over the group gathered near the coffin.
A small group.... The survivors will be hurting but do not have others to pick them up. Perhaps I am here simply to remind them that it is darkest before dawn.
Seeing another stranger approach and give his condolences he joins the group near the wagon.
As The woman the others have addressed as Miss Lorrimor turns to him, he says:
Miss Lorrimor, thank you for inviting me to share In reflecting on your fathers passing.
At this time of sadness that comes from death, I know it can seem like darkness overwhelms your the strength, and the sorrow of the heart bows down your neck.
The clouds themselves seem to reflect the feeling of the day as if all nature were to say that a great loss has fallen on us all.
But remember all is not lost, for death is only the next great journey that we all must take and at the Boneyard we all receive the justice we deserve.
I did not know your father well, for the scholar was taken from us too soon, but my interactions with him were some of the most meaningful of my life. Because of his actions, Lady Sarenrae was able to push my life in a direction that helped many others. Surely the good that he has done for me, and through me to others will be repaid to him in Pharama's final judgement.
Please remember that in the dark days ahead, just because all seems dark now, dawn always follows the darkest of nights.
Then he steps back to allow others to express their condolences.
Miss Lorrimor is touched. She swallows visibly and simply nods as a reply.
Hailiss felt abjectly nervous as she stepped up behind the weathered dawnbringer. He'd been eloquent, dammit. How was she supposed to follow that?
The young woman was clad in a white dress shirt and black jacket, with a proper skirt. A sword sat at her side, probably more ceremonial than anything, really.
Not particularly pretty, nor particularly ugly, her blonde hair matted her brow, heavy with accumlated water from the drizzle. She fidgeted as she approached the professor's daughter.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said. Lamely.
She always felt useless, at events like this. She'd liked the professor, sure, but she wasn't invested in him, not really. She wasn't family.
The other young woman's - Kendra's? - grief, well, it was awkward to look at. She felt petty thinking it, but there it was.
She stepped back quickly.
"Thank you." Miss Lorrimor replies with a faint smile. It's a strange kind of consolation to meet someone who doesn't know how to handle the grief. But a consolation nonetheless. It makes her somehow feel normal in her own mourning.
She was late. A rock slide on the roads had caused a delay for some time to her dissatisfaction. She had been wanting to go early by a day, but sadly would have to make do with an impromptu meeting.
There was somewhat of an emptiness inside her these days. She was had been for all long the professor's debtor, but now she was free of such. It pained her when she recieved the letter that fateful day. To never repay him for his kindness shown soon long ago.
She arrived shortly as they were hauling the casket from the manor, "I've come to repay a debt to an old dear friend and to pay pay my respects as well," she says in a reverent tone to Kendra.
Spugnoir looks at the newcomers who have gathered to pay their respects. It seems that the good professor was indeed a rich man to have touched so many lives. If not in coin, then in spirit.
A figure appears on the road, running in an attempt to arrive on time despite already being several minutes late. She skids to a halt in front of the group, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. "I'm... sorry... I'm... late... sorry... for loss..." she pants at Kendra. She brushes the mussed blonde hair from her eyes and adjusts her coat as she stands up fully. "Um... I mean to say... I never met Professor Lorrimor myself, but I corresponded with him a few times, and I've read I think all of his books front to back, and... I was sorry. To hear that he passed."
Its s shame you're not here to see the turnout of people who's lives you've touched and who's paths you've changed in your time with us my old friend. Darius thought to himself as he approached Kendra.
Even in his 50's he stood imposing at 6'1" and broad shouldered, the rain didn't bother him much. Anyone that saw him at first glance would see that he was hard travelled. A long dark heavy coat, frayed at the bottom and well worn leather boots and breeches. A small backpack slung over his shoulder, what appeared to be a many notched long sword at his side and a medallion on his chest over his layered tunic with the symbol of Iomedae appeared to be the only possessions he brought with him.
As he approached, his ashen gray hair and beard dripping from the rain, he took Kendra's hands in his own.
"Ah Kendra my dear. My sincere condolences on such a terrible loss. The world is truly a lesser place without Petros in it."
Through the rain it was hard to see but now up close some of his other more distinctive features could be seen. His had a comforting face, like a father who would assure you that there were no monsters in your room when he put you to bed. But the steel look in his eyes showed that if there was a monster there he was more than capable of sending it crying to its mother in the night or turning it to cinder and ash if it didn't run off fast enough.
It was then Kendra must have noticed that his right eye was the colour of steel and the left glazed over and milky white with the cataracts.
"Why, I think we have him to thank for discovering most of the known world!" Darius continued, chuckling to himself, thinking back to the many expeditions he joined the late Professor on.
Despite the chuckle and his attempt to comfort Kendra, the sadness in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Iomedae watches over him." he said softly and hugged Kendra close before moving aside to let any other guests give their condolences.
Kendra thanks the elven woman, the woman and the elder man for their commiseration.
As all who want to be here and all the invited friends arrived Miss Lorrimor clears her throat, looks down the road and at every one who came here on this somber day. Some she knows some she don't. She might be guessing correct about one or two of the friends from outside Ravengro from the stories her father told her.
"I thank you all that you have come to accompany Professor Petros Lorrimor, my father, on his last short travel to his final resting place here in Ustalav."
"Father Grimburrow is already waiting at the grave so lets not deter. As we are the only ones here..." Miss Lorrimor states obviously missing someone "I have to ask you to do me a favor. Would some of you please volunteer to carry the coffin the short distance into the restlands to the grave?"
Darius steps forward. " It would be an honour to take up this task and usher your father to his place of rest."
Lucy steps up as well, though she seems uncertain. She moves in behind Darius, reasoning that he looks strong enough to pick up any slack her poor physical shape might leave.
I would be pleased to help. Spugnoir takes the position behind Lucy.
Kendra takes the lead of the procession. As all friends of the Professor are in place and ready she strides in a slow pace in front of the procession into the restlands.
"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!" the wiry man shouts.
Kendras sadness swiftly transforms 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..."
"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."
"Necromancy!? Are you really that ignorant?" Kendra shouts angrily.
Oh dear, dear dear, necromancy? It certainly can't be true! Spugnoir considers trying to speak up in defense but suddenly realizes that someone of his appearance certainly is not one to inspire confidence.
"The professor was no necromancer. He was a scholar and a gentleman, and he knew his courtesies, unlike some I'd care to name. Don't they teach you manners out here in the sticks? This is a funeral procession!"
Hailiss glares daggers at the leader.
Spugnoir mutters to Hailiss. Don't go calling them names like bumpkins, that will just make things worse.
Sara watches the small little mob that had formed. She would have had a hand to her pommel, but holding the coffin left her with no hands.
"This can be a funeral procession if you move upriver. If you want to continue this way we will end it." the man replies his fist clenched around the haft of a weapon at his belt.
Without taking his hand off the coffin Brother Cardk says:
Gentlemen and Ladies please.
I know you each want only what is best for your family. No one will ever fault you for that, but for just a moment let us stop and think through what you are asking.
We are currently bringing this mans body to hallowed ground to place him where there is the least chance he will ever be able to be raised again by evil Necromantic Magic.
If we were to follow your folks suggestion, He nods at the group ahead, Then if you are right and he was a Necromancer there is a chance he could rise again and threaten you families. Something I think we can all agree we do not want.
If however he was not a Necromancer, burying him someplace else would only increase the chance that someday a real Necromancer may be able to corrupt the body of an innocent man to raise him up as an undead horror. Again something I think we all want to avoid.
If however you were to let us through; we can place the body in the hallowed ground of the Restlands, you can watch your priest consecrate the body with with your own eyes, I swear to you I will add on prayers to the Dawnbringer to keep the body securely in the ground, and we can keep everyone as safe as possible.
I will let you talk amongst yourselves, but it seems to me there is one option that is clearly better no matter what you believe this man was in life.
The man's facial expression changes to dumbfounded. He draws in air as if to revoke the speech but seems to lack the words to do so at the moment.
Darius lays a steely gaze at the speaker and speaks slowly.
"Friend, you would be wise to step aside and hold your tongue about those who have passed over. No one need die here today."
He pauses briefly and and looks at these strangers who stand beside him holding the coffin of his dear friend, feeling like they've become companions. United. Here in this moment. And he looks back at Gibs and says with conviction...
"We won't ask again."
Gregor glances back at the older man behind him.
Peace sir. Is not one funeral enough for today?
If possible let us show them there is a better way to get what is best for everyone.
The fool, does he wish to endanger innocents? There are real dangers that stalk these lands, and he threatens farmers?
Glancing back at Gregor and then again at Gibs, Darius takes a deep breath and stands up straight and adjusts the coffin on his shoulder.
"Brother Gregor is right. Let us pass and be on your way."
"Enough of that prattle." Gibs replies. He turns to the farmers and commands "Get the coffin!"
They couldn't really defend themselves with their hands full, could they?
"Set down the casket on 3!"
She started counting down.
"One, Two..."
Lucy bristles. Her role model, a necromancer. The very idea was absurd, insulting even. No one implies a friend of an Arroway to be a necromancer.
"Three!"
Noo! Varsk almost had it there. Spugnoir reluctantly puts down the coffin. Don't draw weapons against them, they are just civilians like us who are afraid.
"Sorry friend Spugnoir, sometimes all mobs understand is a swift slap on the side of the head with a piece of iron."
"Fear not though, I shall merely send them home with a bruise and a headache." Darius says with a wink.
Brother Varsk steps forward between the groups and holds his hands out clearly away from his scimitar.
Is this really how you wish your family to remember you? As having been the men that attack innocents over a corpse?
These people are not going to let you have this corpse. If you try someone innocent will be hurt.
Hell men, how do I know that your leader is not a necromancer looking to do unspeakable things to this corpse.
If you really feel that strongly, bring your evidence of necromancy to the the constable and dig up the corpse. But violently taking a corpse and putting everyone else at risk that it will rise as an undead is not something I can stand aside for.
With that he sets his feet and looks ready for them to charage.
Spugnoir will interpose himself between the villagers and the coffin and will attempt to push away anyone that approaches it. Please just leave.
"Screw off, leave the damn dead at peace!"
Hailiss draws her sword, grips it in two hands, and sets about whacking the angry over their heads with the flat side of the blade.