This thread has been created in readiness for our in-character roleplaying
It's raining. All told, a rather unpleasant day. It's conceivable the environs would possess a more pleasant character where the day a little more clement, but having travelled from all over the region, you're arrive at a time when Ravengro is possibly not showing itself off in its best light.
Of course, the fact that you're here for a funeral is not exactly conducive for a knees-up sort of party, but as you approach the graveyard you are a little taken aback to see so few individuals present for the funeral of so great a man as your dear friend, Petros Lorrimor. You might even question whether you've come to the right place, but the rows of gravestones and avenues of carefully tended edging and marshalled gravel denoting the paths demonstrate the fallacy of that.
And there are mourners present, one of them clearly the mourner-in-chief, for her eyes are red and puffy, and she has dressed for the occasion in a somewhat dark, conservative gown. Trim and attractive, she turns to you with that a mixture of curiosity, sadness, and relief that people adopt at an occasion where they know no one. Naturally, normally speaking, the person in whose honour the event was held would know everyone. From this point of view, weddings, namings and blessings were easier -- sadly, this was a funeral, and the person you have in common is evidently in attendance, though strangely quiet. He lies in a rather fine casket perched on trestles set up at the lychgate to the cemetery. Relatively few people appear to have come to pay their respects, which is odd, because you understood that this was his home town, and you knew him to be a fine and upstanding member of society. The young woman strides forward, her hand extended. "Thank you so much for coming, may I ask how you came to be one of father's friends? He was always so secretive about his work..."
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Shanoa bows slightly before taking the girl's hand. "The professor and I corresponded frequently - he had taken an interest in some events in my youth and taught me much..." she pauses as she looks around. "I'm sorry, am I early? It looks like I didn't arrive at the right time - I certainly hope I didn't miss the whole ceremony."
A raven haired young woman dressed conservatively, in the manner of the country folk, takes the offered hand lightly between each of hers and despite the gloom of the day peers at the emotionally distraught woman through smoke lensed glasses "My condolences, Mistress Lorrimor. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances. I am Cassandra Blackmoore, I had the honor of meeting your father a few years ago. He came to my village after I had suffered a horrendous attack and he helped a confused, frightened girl make sense of everything that had happened to her and for her to find her way in the world. For that I am eternally grateful." Turning her head to the side Cassandra whispers hoarsely "He will be sorely missed."
An elven maiden with an athletic build approaches but maintains her distance as not to interrupt the exchange between the other newcomers and the woman who is apparently the Professor's next of kin. The elf's hair is an oak brown with eyes as green as emeralds. She is dressed in gray with a brown hooded traveling cloak, boots and gloves. There is a slung shortbow with a quiver of arrows on her back on both sides of her backpack, and at her sides dangle a Rapier and a Light Mace.
When she has an opportunity to approach the woman, she does so.
"My deepest regrets about Lorrimer. I am Alessa Velorei. As with the others, the professor helped me as well awhile back when we met in Caliphas. I will miss him dearly. If there is anything I could do for you, please feel free to ask it of me."
Alessa places a hand on the casket, lightly caressing the fine wood. In a soft voice, she whispers a prayer.
The last to arrive, Xavian patiently waits for the other exchanges to finish. Once the young woman's attention is not distracted, he approaches taking her offered hand in his own large hand and placing his other hand over hers in a comforting gesture, "You must be the Professor's daughter Kendra. My condolences for your loss. I am sorry I have arrived at such a late hour. I hope I did not delay the proceedings. As to who I am, my name is Xavian. Xavian Graves. Your father was one of my tutors. My favorite tutor in fact. I am deeply saddened to hear of his passing as is my father and mother. Both thought highly of the man and wished they could attend, but sadly could not given the short notice. Please forgive their absence. I hope that we can talk more later. If there is anything I can do to help at the moment, please feel free to ask. I am at your service." Xavian releases her hand gently.
Kendra takes each of your hands very gratefully, though as you speak you can see in her eyes she's barely taking in what you say. But she nods politely and smiles as you talk, if a little sadly. "You are perfectly on time, worry not. We were expecting a few more, but... times are strange," she says, a little wistfully. Besides your four good selves, only a small handful of villagers appear to be paying their respects to the deceased: a couple of important-looking officials; a homely man with a shiny nose, who evidently hasn't had much time to get changed, for he still appears to be wearing an apron, but he has made an effort with his hair at least, and it's smacked down with some sweet-smelling oil; he would appear to be accompanied by a shy boy of about 13 years, whom you presume to be his son; and a tall, elegant lady, who is standing close to Kendra, offering a supportive arm.
"I guess we should start, then," Kendra announces. "We don't want to keep Father Grimburrow waiting in this rain any longer than we have to." As though this were pre-arranged, the two officials and the oily man quickly move to three corners of the casket, grasping a handle. But there's still a very obvious gap at the foot of the coffin.
"I'm ever so sorry, could I trouble you..." starts Kendra, but then she stops and fishes for her handkerchief up her sleeve, and dabs at her eyes, whilst the elegant lady beside her pops a comforting arm around her shoulder, and they move to take position just behind the coffin.
"Of course", says Xavian taking up the fourth corner of the casket. Being a man no great physical strength, he strains to lift the coffin hoping not to embarass himself by failing to carry his share of the weight. He waits until the others proceed and moves with them.
Alessa respectfully falls into place at the back of the procession. Slowly her gaze falls on each of the newcomers. Dear Lorrimor, you have helped many in your brief lighting haven't you. I regret not trading more frequent correspondences with you. One forgets just how brief life is for humans. Rest Well, my friend. I hope the Brightness has found you.
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Shanoa takes a place behind the pallbearers next to the elf, furrowing her brow in thought as she looks bewilderingly around her. As they make their way through the rain, she edges a bit closer and says in a low whisper, "Something's wrong. We can't be the only ones to come - Lorrimor was a great man and well respected across the land. Why wouldn't more come to pay their respects?"
"Of course", says Xavian taking up the fourth corner of the casket. Being a man no great physical strength, he strains to lift the coffin hoping not to embarass himself by failing to carry his share of the weight. He waits until the others proceed and moves with them.
Professor Lorrimor was not a large man and, in death, weighs even less. There is no issue with Xavian taking a handle on the casket and lending his support -- the only trouble is his having to stoop slightly to hold the coffin at the same level as his fellow pallbearers, none of whom appear to have shared the Professor's abstemious nature and, to a man, seem to have concentrated on growth that involved girth rather more than height.
Xavian can only thank the heavens there was no attempt to lift the coffin to shoulder height, though he could easily imagine Petros's infectious giggle at the comedy value of the imagined scene: a entirely new meaning to the old adage "leaving the house feet first" which would have delighted his old friend.
Xavian smiles at the thought, suppressing a chuckle that would be inappropriate given the circumstances.
Cassandra joins the other mourners in the funeral procession, her head bowed. As she looks around morosely she thinks to herself "So few people. Professor you deserve better than this." As one of the others gathered speaks in a hushed tone Cassandra nods her head in agreement and whispers in reply "Aye. Something more than the weather has kept people away"
As the procession sets off following a nod from the lead coffin bearer, you leave the slight protection of the covered lychgate and move out into the gentle drizzle of the grey, dank afternoon. The winding, gravel pathway has a engraved stone sign, which indicates the locals call this gravel pathway the "Dreamwake"—but rounding a corner onto another path charmingly called the "Eversleep", you become aware that there are indeed other mourners, though they seem even more unsuitably dressed than the man in the apron, upon whose oiled hair the rain is now pearling like a hairnet of diamonds.
Peering through the misty rain, you become aware that the other mourners are actually on the path, and not by the graveside at all. Indeed, they have a slightly belligerent stance, and you realize that a dozen somewhat surly men are actually blocking the way. Their ringleader also happens to be the tallest, which makes him stand out, though he is an elderly man. Something about his bearing suggests he's used to giving orders -- and, furthermore, having them obeyed.
“That’s far enough. We've 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!”
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Completely baffled by this change of events, Shanoa steps out from the procession and blurts out, "What's the meaning of this? Have you no respect for the dead? Professor Lorrimor was a great man and deserves a proper burial just as well as anyone else in this graveyard. Please step aside that we may bury this man in peace."
Xavian quickly registers the man's tone and words. He glances at the weeping Kendra, then looks to the mob. "I do not believe the Lady Lorrimor is predisposed to conversing with this mob." He studies the older man and the crowd. He speaks loud enough for the folk close to him to hear, "A mob lead by what I surmise is a town elder or citizen of some repute. The mob is blocking our path in an aggressive manner. Not a particularly organized or well-armed mob, yet dangerous nonetheless. Should we contact the local sheriff or constable to look into this matter or is there a citizen of some repute present that might be able to bring this situation to a peaceful conclusion? I daresay the man leading them does not intend to."
"I do caution that we should all keep our heads about us. This is an obvious misunderstanding and The Good Professor would not be pleased with bloodshed or fighting at his funeral. Please keep this in mind as we proceed with a resoluation., Xavian says this in a manner not directed at anyone, but obviously intended for the well-armed women as well as the mob.
Completely baffled by this change of events, Shanoa steps out from the procession and blurts out, "What's the meaning of this? Have you no respect for the dead? Professor Lorrimor was a great man and deserves a proper burial just as well as anyone else in this graveyard. Please step aside that we may bury this man in peace."
Something about the regal bearing of the raven-haired young lady causes the mutinous mob to doubt themselves, and some of them cough, and embarrassedly step off the gravel. The ringleader feels the wall of menace behind him buckling, but he perseveres for a moment, determined not to lose face. "You shouldn't be burying that necromancer in the same earth as our kin. We all think it. Things were OK in Ravengro until he started messing around with things that didn't ought to be messed with."
Alessa calmy strides forward and comes to a halt at the front of the procession. In a swift move, her Rapier is out and with the slightest flick of her wrist, it becomes reversed in her grip with the basket hilt forward instead of the blade. There is a look of grim resolve in her eyes.
"This procession moves under the watchful eyes of of the Lady of Graves. A mob assembled to harass a grieving daughter as she is about to bury her father is heinous indeed, and it will not be tolerated here on Pharasma's hallowed ground. I will act as her proxy if left no other alternative. I humbly ask that you step aside and allow us to pass in peace."
She bows her head slightly, eyes firmly locked on the ringleader.
Diplomacy:
Xavian's mention of the sheriff, Alessa's thinly veiled threat, and an ever-increasing embarrassment and discomfort at their desecration of a hallowed rite, so ably seeded by Cassandra, is more than enough to persuade the assembled to disperse, though one or two do still shoot somewhat venomous glances at you as they sidle off, and more than a couple make a warding sign against the evil eye in the direction of the Professor's casket as they pass it. But even the leader feels obliged to leave the cemetery once his erstwhile backers have moved away, though it is an exit accompanied by much dark muttering.
Soon, your sombre procession can continue unhindered, though Kendra, the Professor's daughter is pretty inconsolable after the unexpected interruption of proceedings. The attending councillors profess shock at the attack and are quick to assure you that the perpetrators were “largely ill-educated local farmhands, predominantly all of low character.”
"I gather.", says Xavian to the councillors. "Let us proceed."
The unexpected interruption to proceedings now past, Professor Lorrimor's final procession continues up to the plot Kendra has purchased for her father. A wizened old man, who introduces himself as Father Grimburrow, is standing at the site of the professor’s burial, accompanied by a pair of gravediggers who wait silently, their soft hats clasped in both their hands as a mark of respect.
No further complications prevent the lowering of his coffin into the open grave by the gravediggers, and Father Grimburrow gives a sermon on the nature of life and death, his somewhat sombre name offset by an unfortunate tendency for an uncontrollable whistle to escape his lips and few remaining teeth when he encounters the "s" sound in a word, which threatens the sobriety of the occasion. However, again you think how much the Professor would have enjoyed a bit of levity in this, his final sending-off. Having completed his solemnities, Father Grimburrow invites Kendra to say a few words about her father.
Though it's clear Kendra's fighting back tears, she shares some wonderful homely stories of her father -- not the tales of derring-do that you yourselves might contribute from your own experiences of the man, but fond remembrances of simple paternal care and affection -- it is very clear that she loved her father, and abundantly clear that he thought the world of her. You do notice there's no mention of a Mrs Lorrimor anywhere in this story, but now hardly seems the time to ask.
Having made you all smile with her reminiscences, Kendra then invites anyone else to share a story of her father.
Alessa steps forward, and turns to address the gathering. She finally pushes back the hood of her cloak revealing her sharp elven features.
"I met the Professor in Caliphas some years ago when he hired me on as a guide to one of his excursions. I had experienced great personal loss in the past and it weighed heavily on my shoulders. It had changed my personality and disposition. Professor Lorrimor, never one to pry, accepted my services regardless. He hired me a few times for various excursions throughout Ustalav and eventually we became friends. He opened my eyes to things that I would have been missed had I not been so morose.
Lorrimor was surprisingly adept and had a considerable amount of experience at many things. More than any human I had ever encountered before. He taught me a few of these things, but more importantly, he helped me restore myself. For this, I will always be in his debt.
I fear this world has lost one of it's brightest lights in Lorrimor's passing, but the next will gain it. Life and Death are parts of the same journey, may Pharasma guide him as he takes his next steps."
After making a spiral gesture in the air, Alessa curtly nods to Kendra before taking her place once again among the gathered.
Kendra smiles, a little wanly truth be told, but nods a polite acceptance and acknowledgement of Alessa's speech, and uses the pause between speakers as another opportunity to give her eyes a further dab and her nose a surreptitious wipe.
As the leader of the mob speaks, the words sink home and Cassandra realizes why there are so few people at the funeral.
"Necromancy? No it cannot be. The Professor always had a keen interest in fighting the Dark. I cannot, will not, believe that he crossed over a line he would never have crossed."
As the councilors issue there reassurances Cassandra looks sharply at the men and mutters under her breath "My parents are "local farmhands"."
As the elf finishes speaking Cassandra approaches the graveside and sighs. Clearing her throat she begins to speak "I met the Professor several years ago. He came to my village after I had suffered a brutal attack by a creature of spite and malice. I not only survived the attack but managed to drive the creature away. This piqued the Professor's interest and he came to my village to talk with me about my experiences. He found a confused and frightened young girl who was scared of the powers awoken in me that night. He told me to not be afraid but to embrace what had changed in me and to use those powers for the Light. Before he left he gave me several books," Cassandra pauses to issue a little chuckle "he always seemed to have books with him, to read. It was those books which guided me, and though I never saw the Professor again we corresponded over the intervening years as he followed my life and I his. It is a great sorrow that I will never get the opportunity to speak with him again."
As Cassandra finishes her speech she bends down and picks up a handful of the disturbed earth near the gravesite and saying a quick prayer to Pharasma tosses the dirt over the casket. "Farewell, Professor. May the Lady protect you now."
Xavian removes his hat to honor the professor. As the rain wets his unclad head and he listens to the others speak, he reminisces privately remembering the many debates and discussions he and The Professor often had over a cup of green tea from the East. He recalls a particular discussion on the nature of mortality and the soul. They often wondered what the afterlife might be like given the accounts of it by the varying religions. Neither one of them currently followed a particular religion. They discussed the merits and deficiencies of several of the religions whether it be the abundance of drunken fights which must occur in the realm or Cayden Calien or the droll black and white sermons of followers of Iomedae, even Nethys's realm seemed unappealing given the uncaring and volatile nature of the god. Both had come to the conclusion that life in the realm of Desna might suit both their fancies. Travel, dreams, knowledge from both, and a lack of extreme dogma were many of the attractions they felt made Desna an appealing deity. Xavian wondered now that The Professor was put to the question, what deity he would choose. He felt sure Desna would be the one, but he hadn't talked to The Professor in many years. He could well have changed his mind. But of this he was sure, the Professor was learning as much as he could about whereever he decided to reside. The desire to learn would not desist. He would have access to the greatest repositories of knowledge one could access in the nether realms. Though he envied The Professor, he did not wish to follow any time soon. Too much to learn about here and too many places to see. Fare thee well, Professor. May I see you one day again, though not for many years.
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Shanoa reaches back and pulls her long hair around in front of her, the low-cut dress revealing her bare back as she walks forward to face the group. For the first time you see what was hidden - an intricate design of a rose that looks as if it's growing out of a cobbled street fills the small of her back. She turns and begins to speak, "I was not a popular child growing up - it could be said that I didn't have many friends. I thought that by hiding who I was and doing what everyone else did would help me fit in, but in the end it brought me great pain.
"Lorrimor changed all that for me. He taught me the beauty and importance of who I really am, and helped me gain confidence that I never believed I could attain. It is because of the Professor I am who I am today - I owe everything to him." She pauses for a moment to regain her composure before continuing. "I'm pleased to see that he touched many more lives in the same way, and hope that he feels our love for him in the realms beyond."
Nodding at Kendra, she steps back down among the small crowd.
Xavian has a familiarity with the symbol of Milani from his books, but he can't claim much intimate knowledge of tenets or rituals associated with her.
Knowledge (religion):
Task Knowledge Skill DC
Recognize an obscure deity’s symbol or clergy Religion 20
Diplomacy checks: Shanoa:
Cassandra:
Alessa:
The assembled, especially Kendra, are all very moved by your contributions, and Petros's daughter is not the only one with a hanky out by the end.
Knowledge (religion): 1d20+5
Consider that Cassandra has quite up-to-date knowledge on Milani, several aspects, indeed.
Xavian offers no rememberances aloud at the funeral and keeps his place throughout.
Alessa maintains a respectful gaze on each speaker in turn. As they speak, she tries to imagine Professor Lorrimor spending time with each one of them based on their mannerisms, body language, and descriptions. When the one called Xavian does not offer a eulogy, her eyes fall upon him with a more intense scrutiny.
Sense Motive:
After a few moments, she decides that Xavian is merely a private individual, rather than a sinister or untrustworthy one.
Once it's clear that everyone has said what they would like to say at the funeral, Father Grimburrow soon finishes off the service. Kendra silently mouths one more final farewell to her father, and then moves off from the graveside to let the diggers complete their work in peace. She dutifully shakes hands, receives various hugs and kisses from the few other guests who have attended, and invites everyone back to the Professor's home -- now, of course, her home. All the other attenders make some form of excuse, and doubtless the inclemency of the day, and the altercation with the yobbish local element have spoilt further what was already a sombre atmosphere. Kendra extends the invitation to people she knows far less well -- namely yourselves -- and you follow her from the graveyard to her home for her father's wake. She appears grateful not merely for the company, but also the protection after the scare in the Restlands. She soon provides drinks along with a selection of finger food, and she informs you that Councillor Vashian Hearthmount, who was at the funeral, has just returned to his own house to fetch the various legal documents that he needs, not least Professor Lorrimor's last will and testament, and which he proposes to read upon his return.
The Lorrimor residence is a modest affair, not unlike the man himself, though the walls of just about every room in the house are crowded with shelves, every one of them bowing under the strain of piled up tomes and scrolls, with periodic spaces around various devices, at whose purpose you can only hazard guesses. Kendra periodically passes round with a carafe of pleasant red wine, and enquires further of you whence you came, what it is that you do, and what your connections to her father might be. As you are all strangers to each other, it seems like a pleasant enough way to pass the time.
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Sipping the wine and helping herself to several pieces of food, Shanoa gazes absentmindedly around the house. How did I come to be here with these people? Such a strange turns of events my life has become. Kendra's inquiries bring her back to the present, though. "I grew up a girl of modest means of Courtaud in Lozeri, some 75 miles almost due north from here. I already mentioned my younger childhood was not a pleasant one, though I was never mistreated or abused as such - I don't want to sound as if I've had worse troubles than others. I've been working odd jobs since I came of age and even traveled as far as Galt on one occasion to meet an acquaintance of the late Professor. It really is amazing what a traveled man he was - how did he ever have time for family with when he kept himself so busy?"
Accepting a glass of wine, Alessa samples it with her finger before taking a sip. "I am formerly from Varisia, but I have spent some of my recent years here in Ustalav. As mentioned earlier, I served as a guide for your father. Nothing too difficult but some of the travels were rather lengthy. An Amaans trek through the Hungry Mountains to Kavapesta for example. Another was an excursion north skirting the eastern Shudderwood looking for some rare herbs, from there it was onward to Karcau in Sinaria. There were some shorter travels as well, such as Eran's Rest and just past Rozenport in Versex to the Lantern Lake. Lorrimor was remarkably fit for a human of his years, and tempered with kindness and the patience of an elf."
Alessa pauses momentarily to take another sip of wine before continuing. "Lorrimor mentioned returning to Ravengro once or twice during our travels. There was always "just one more task to be done". Had I known he had a daughter here, I would have pestered him into allowing me to accompany him home sooner. I would have liked to have met you under better circumstances, Kendra. Your father was a good man."
Xavian removes his hat and coat upon entering Kendra's home. He inquires as to where he should place them. When they are accounted for, he follows the lady deeper into her home. Under his coat he wears a black travel-worn explorer's outfit consisting of leather boots, thick trousers, a warm long-sleeve wool shirt, and a leather vest. He has a well-made plain steel ring on his right index finger. Two pouches, one larger than the other, hang from his belt and he removes a shoulder satchel that he keeps close to him.
Xavian spends some time walking about the living room studying the tomes and scrolls with a keen interest reading what snippets he can of their contents be it the title or a bit of whats inside. When the wine is offered, he asks, "I"m not much of a drinker, dear lady. Might I trouble you for some tea. Preferably Tien Green Tea, but whatever tea is available would be fine. A light touch of honey if possible."
After he receives his tea he takes his seat with the others listening to their tales, he says to Kendra when the conversation provides a moment's break, "Quite a library this home is. More than a few interesting tomes on these shelves. Do you share your father's passion for knowledge, Lady Lorrimor?"
Xavian addresses the other ladies present, "I wasn't expecting the professor's funeral to be attended by so many interesting ladies. I don't think I arrived in time to hear all your names. I am Xavian Graves. I am less traveled than any of you having spent my life in Caliphas. It is a pleasure to meet you all." He sips his tea.
Xavian takes Shanoa's offered hand gently into his and gives her a gentlemanly handshake, "Not uncomfortable at all, Lady Shanoa. I am quite sure conversation with three such well-traveled and life-hardened young women will not bore me in the slightest. I only wish I had the same intriguing life you have all had. I rather think you shall find me a boring fellow as most of my life experience comes from reading or listening to musings of others. I think what most interests me at this moment, and perhaps it is too soon to ask, but I wish to set the question on the table so to speak: How did the Professor pass? I do not believe the letter made any mention of the hows or whys." Another sip of tea.
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Shania raises an eyebrow. "Our elven companion might take exception to being called young by you." You think you notice the edges of a smile in the corner of her mouth as she flashes her eyes playfully at Xavian. Don't worry though - at least I won't think any less of you for being a scholar. He's right, though, there weren't many details in the letter. Kendra, is there anything you can share about his passing?"
Being called "young" raises an eyebrow from Alessa, but she does not appear to be insulted in the least. Finishing her glass of wine, she looks to the hostess. "Might I help myself to another glass, Kendra?"
Xavian says to Shanoa, "I certainly hope she doesn't take offense.", then turns to Alessa and smiles, "You must admit you do look rather young."
Back at the Lorrimor residence Cassandra removes her traveling cloak and her smoked glasses revealing for the first time a pair of mismatched eyes, one green one violet, a tell-tale sign of her true parentage. Once in the sitting room Cassandra politely eases herself into a wingback chair and folds her legs underneath her. She graciously refuses a glass of wine when it is offered but perks up at Xavian's mention of tea. "A hot cup of tea is just what is needed to help chase away the chill from this morning." she says to Kendra "I will help you make some."
After returning from the kitchen she again settles herself into the chair, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup. Staring into the cup she begins her tale " I am a foundling. My parents found me abandonded by the edge of their field one morning. I grew up in a loving home and my childhood was a normal one, except people always found something "odd" about me. It wasn't until after I reached puberty that I discovered what that oddness was. Shortly after I turned 13 I began hearing voices, whispers actually, in the night calling me into the woods outside our farm. I ignored the call until the pull became too strong and I snuck out that night and followed the voice inside my head. While wandering through the forest I was attacked by a creature of pure malice called a shadow.” Cassandra shakes her head as if trying to shake loose a bad memory ”As the creature began draining my life force I could fell a spark growing somewhere in my soul, tiny at first then growing. When I awoke I found myself lying on the ground and I could no longer hear the voice in my head. I ran home babbling in a language I never knew I knew.”
”as word of my attack and miraculous survival spread the Professor must have heard of it and came to talk with me about my experience. He found a confused and frightened young girl unsure about her future in the world. After several weeks he convinced me that it was who I was, not what I was, that mattered and that I had been given a gift and what I did with that gift that would define me, not who my mother may have actually been.”
She settles further back into the chair and heaves a great sigh, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders and looks around the room at the others seated around her, half expecting them to reject her.