#ed1717
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Sept 9, 2017 19:51:41 GMT
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Lev
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August 2015
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Post by Lev on Sept 17, 2015 23:25:23 GMT
When man was young and stupid, death came to him as it came to animals. Flesh of friend and family filled their bellies just the same. As their minds matured so did their understanding, conscience and knowledge turning pack-minded barbarians into compassionate individuals. But no amount of intellect managed to stop the killing; no amount of love every stopped death. Why the public still practiced wakes, Theolandra would never know. She didn't want to know.. but she had a terrible feeling that this circumstantial service would force her to find out.
"I've never been to a funeral," the Lady said blankly, looking down the steps that led into the Royal Gardens, garbed in black for the first time since her conception. "I'm not sure.. that I welcome the experience."
Neala said nothing. What could she have said? Theolandra had always been the book of good advice, not she. Instead, she continued to greet the darkly-clothed guests that filtered into the garden paths. Welcoming them in, describing the ceremony and where to find their seats among the flowers.. It was the only way she could help, for now.
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Isengrim
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Aug 15, 2015 14:18:57 GMT
August 2015
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Post by Isengrim on Sept 18, 2015 1:18:43 GMT
Isengrim was one of the first to arrive to the funeral. He was dressed in his dark funeral attire. It was an outfit he reserved for such occasions, and so he did not fancy wearing it. It normally remained folded in a box hidden away in his wardrobe. His face was solemn and emotionless. It did not carry the same sadness that those close to Arthur bore, but it was sad nonetheless, sympathy and compassion for all those affected by the tragic and sudden death of Etirath's temple guardian. He did not know Arthur well, not personally. He had seen him once, in the amphitheater, but aside that, all that Isengrim knew of him was from word of mouth, mostly from Theolandra. She was close to the young man. How close, he was not sure, but it did not matter. He did not come for Arthur's sake, as much as he did for Theolandra. He saw her first. She was keeping occupied by greeting the guests that slowly entered the gardens. He could still see the sorrow in her eyes. He remembered the moment when she called for him. She was frantic, devastated. It shattered his heart to see her suffering such a great loss. He had felt such pain. She was no stranger to loss. He could only imagine when she thought he had died, and when many of her companions during the war actually had.
He brushed off those thoughts. He had made amends. Now was not to time to continue to wallow in the past. She needed him, here, now. "Milady." He said, as he approached. He wanted nothing more to immediately wrap his arms around her in a consoling hug. But they were in public, and had to maintain the formal respect that was kept between her and all of her subjects. He bowed, and nodded to Neala, then stood at her side so as to allow the other guests passage. He maintained his silence at her side. There was nothing to say. To ask how she was doing would be pointless. He knew the answer to that. She was doing her best to keep busy, and so she remained composed, but he was certain inside she ached. So he stood at her side, if she needed him, he was there, as he always was.
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#ed1717
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Annasiel
At last, my peace. I found it in her eyes.
369
Aug 13, 2015 22:40:06 GMT
August 2015
annasiel
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Post by Annasiel on Sept 18, 2015 2:53:51 GMT
Cory sat quietly in his chair, the occasional cough dampened in a thick, scarlet handkerchief. Across a sea of empty seats, other guests wandered about the hollow absently, giving comfort and sympathy to one another in basal human fashion. Arthur hadn't been close to the librarian, though his presence had been known. He seemed a kindly young man... though if rumor had it, he wasn't as young as he seemed... and had never given the recluse a bad look. It was shameful he hadn't had a chance to know him more. Death always came in the least expected of ways, snatching away the ones who didn't deserve its numbing kiss. It was all Cory could do to attend the ceremony, to pay his respects to a true guardian of the kingdom. His gaze was snatched by a young girl storming past the hedges, brushing away the queen's assistant. When he had told Story about the occasion, she had seemed non-committed. Busy as always, no heart for the unnecessary frills and lace of humanity. "The man is dead, and I didn't know him," she had replied offhandedly, "so it won't do either of us good if I go." The librarian had been expecting to see Laniz and Alice, once they heard the news (though they could be off anywhere in the great green wilderness, for all he knew), but he hadn't expected his other daughter. And he hadn't expected her so... furious.
A look of determined ire on her face, Story walked beyond Neala with passionate zeal. She stopped at the edge of the setup, her head swiveling, finally locking on the queen of the kingdom. Like a bee and a bear, she rounded on the forlorn woman, stinger tongue poised to launch its wretched barbs.
"He was murdered, and I know you know it! " she accused as she pushed past the sinewy hermit beside her. "You people are all just standing around, 'saying goodbye', when you could be out there trying to find who did it! For all we know, he's getting away, while we all just lollygag with idiotic social rituals!"
The air was quiet enough for Cory to hear her words. His face turned as brilliant a shade as his hanky, and he immediately burrowed it into his hands. Why did he tell her what happened? Why did he think anything good would come out of something else for the girl to make a mess of?
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
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Post by blacknoise on Sept 18, 2015 3:40:01 GMT
A small sea of red walked like a slow flowing wave on a dark day, slowly making its way towards the gardens. Red bandanas, red scarves, red shirts, nearly a hundred men and women dressed in black with some small assortment of red arrived at the funeral. Lead by a faun, smoking a pipe and taking off a top hat with a red rose as he arrived, the group slowly, silently, lined up to see Theolandra and pay their respects. None of them would stay, only the faun had been invited, but they came nonetheless to offer condolences to the queen. As they muttered, many through tear strained faces, the faun approached the queen and explained. "Evening, your majesty. These people, many of them had met Arthur on one occasion or another, though not always under the best of circumstances. They wish to offer their sincerest condolences for Etirath's loss at Miss Kostya's urging..."
Hesitating for a moment, Eoin, for that was his name, added before turning to find his seat among the crowd, "Miss Kostya offers her condolences, though I'll not say to be privy to her true feelings. I knew Arthur, met him, he is the reason I'm even in Etirath. He was special, for sure." At that, he left the queen and her handmaiden to go find a seat. He did not get far from the queen, not even more than two steps in fact, before a young girl came shouting and throwing about accusations. He knew the girl, anyone who checked a book of of the library would know the girl at least by reputation. His scratchy, smoker's voice immediately responded to her, "Is that all this is to you, a ritual, folly-filled child? Have you no respect? Are you so nearsighted that you think there are not already guards scouring the city for his killer? What good will sicing a city full of grieving people to lynch out a killer do? Anarchy, mass murder, chaos? Is this what you call for, you undisciplined brat?"
Stepping towards her, he snorted, similar to an angry Buck, and commanded, "You will sit down and honor the memory of a man who did more for those present alone than you'll ever be able to list in all your books. Otherwise I will remove you. That is not a request."
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Aug 15, 2015 17:44:50 GMT
August 2015
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Post by Guest on Sept 18, 2015 15:50:16 GMT
"My dear librarian, you look pale. What's the matter? Are you feeling ill?"
Laniz appeared from behind the bench that her husband was sitting on. She wore a long dull grey dress that swayed around her ankles as she walked, and her hair was tied back into a loose braid with a similar color. Black was too dark a color for her; she had offed it from her wardrobe years ago. A pregnant sigh accompanied her seat next to her husband. He seemed normal enough, face-in-hands and acting uncomfortable. It was a terrible truth but dozens of things could've been bothering her husband at any time. Physically he wasn't well off near all of the foliage and flowers. Mentally he was oft somewhere other than his seat. So Laniz stroked his back with her palm in an attempt to comfort him.
"Alice is inspecting the flowers. She was a little too interested in examining the body," Laniz whispered with a slight groan. "I stilled that interest. Don't worry, it'll be over soon. I- What the.."
Then she heard it. A too familiar voice had broken the quiet of the delicate scene like a hammer on glass. That was Story, though. But Laniz finally puzzled together the reason for her husband's uneasiness. Sitting ended almost as soon as it'd began, and the stablemaster was at her daughter's side quicker than a hiccup. A hairy man in a top-hat had already lectured the preteen by then, but Laniz was already picturing her daughter in a prison cell. How mortified could you be after your daughter had potentially offended the Queen of Etirath for a SECOND TIME?!
"Please, sir! Please. Forgive me- forgive her. She's only a child, indeed. She's hurting. Her sense of justice is just stronger than most," the mother said. As she rambled on her long fingers had already gripped Story's shoulder. When Laniz was Story's age her own mother had a way of controlling her children while saving face. Thankfully, Laniz had been on the receiving end of this technique often enough to learn it. With one hand she pinched the muscle between Story's neck and shoulder while the other hid behind the girl's head, buried in her hair but ready to yank upward at anytime.
"My Lady, Lady Theolandra.. please, pay her no mind. Her father and I obviously need to teach her. This is our fault. Punish me if punishment is due," she pleaded earnestly, betraying the angry hold she had on her eldest.
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#ed1717
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Sept 9, 2017 19:51:41 GMT
5
Lev
191
August 2015
admin
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Post by Lev on Sept 18, 2015 15:56:32 GMT
So many faces had surrounded her at once; so many living, breathing, dynamic faces. Their healthy animated cheeks were like red roses against the black backdrop of death. Theolandra wanted to smile in their presence, laugh, feel relieved about the beauty of it all. But Story's venomous truths still pulled at the shackles that bound her heart and spirit. She raised a hand to the faun and the stablemaster, limply at best, to signal to them that everything was fine. Everyone handled such moments differently. Whether the young girl was grieving or not, it was still a sign of compassion for life other than her own. Theolandra knelt down on the cobblestone, her halved height making her inches shorter than the vivacious girl, forcing older eyes upward to hold the younger gaze.
"Dear child, your strength in such a time is becoming." A weak smile came, a sad smile. Then pale hands held the girl's forearms, squeezing them gently. "They say revenge is like a disease, consuming every man it touches. Its thirst cannot be quenched.. until the last man standing has fallen," the Lady's grip tightened, causing wrinkles in Story's sleeves. A broken expression disturbed the fragile composure of her face. "If this is true, harden me with your mettle, Story. I can feel the breath of madness on my neck and I fear it."
A troubling wind shifted through the crowd, from the entrance to the edge of the gardens. The red and black sea swirled together under its forceful hand, red scarves and sashes licking the black coats of their neighbors, and shoulders nudging together as they braced themselves against the breeze. It was colder than anyone expected, and the evening sun only promised a more frigid night.
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#ed1717
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Annasiel
At last, my peace. I found it in her eyes.
369
Aug 13, 2015 22:40:06 GMT
August 2015
annasiel
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Post by Annasiel on Sept 18, 2015 18:49:36 GMT
In all her life, so few words had never caused such a powerful reaction. Story opened her mouth to attack the offending faun, ready to defend herself if need be, when the hand of death itself crushed her shoulder. The girl cried out, beginning to squirm away, but stopped when a second hand grabbed her in the hair. From behind her, she heard the voice of her mother desperately trying to save face with the queen. It was pitiful she lived in a time where speech was met with violence. Opinions were important, especially when they were right. The idiotic faun was too ignorant to see the benefit of organizing a civilian search, and her mother too timid to let anyone speak their mind. It was a sad fact of the society Story lived in, one utterly inferior to the idealistic expectations set in stories and philosophies.
Then the queen herself clasped the girl by the arms.
Story froze instantly, eyes wide. The queen had never touched her before. And the look on the lady's face was not one of scolding like the faun or embarrassment like her mother, but instead a look of sad longing. Desperation, almost, held below the girl's own face by the kneeling regent.
"Dear child, your strength in such a time is becoming. They say revenge is like a disease, consuming every man it touches. Its thirst cannot be quenched.. until the last man standing has fallen. If this is true, harden me with your mettle, Story. I can feel the breath of madness on my neck and I fear it."
Story couldn't respond. She didn't know how. She could only stand like a grounded fish, mouth flopping desperately. This entire debacle had been so swift, so unsettling, and to end with a broken-souled speech from the queen herself... the child's core felt like a quavering bowl of jelly. She was going to throw up. She was going to pass out. She...
In front of an entire crowd of mourners, Story Burgess began to cry.
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Isengrim
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Aug 15, 2015 14:18:57 GMT
August 2015
isengrim
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Post by Isengrim on Sept 18, 2015 19:41:46 GMT
The dispute ended as soon as it started. At first, Isengrim prepared to step in, but the girl's mother found her way to the girl before the situation could escalate. Then, the queen her self decided to intervene, quelling the mother's profuse apologies and addressing the girl directly. Isengrim followed her, but remained several paces behind her. The queen knew what she was doing. Then came her words. With them, she voiced the thought that was at the back of everyone's mind. Grief was not alone in the hearts of the populace. Arthur had not died peacefully. His life was taken from him, and while everyone was gathered her in passive grieving, it was no doubt that those close to him, and even those who simply knew him from afar, yearned for justice. To see that this sentiment was shared by even the queen herself. Surely it served to magnify the feeling in all who watched the scene before them.
The fiery-spirited girl opened her mouth, but no words came out. She seemed confused at first, weak, and then finally, her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. Isengrim closed his eyes and lowered his head. It was likely that this was just beginning. The next few weeks would likely be long and arduous, as the town, galvanized by the event that just took place, would not rest until Arthur's killer was brought to justice.
Isengrim walked from his place behind Theolandra, to the spot beside her. He knew that she would not resist spilling tears of her own with the girl crying. If her emotions took over now, he should be there. He looked at her face. The calm expression from earlier was now replaced by a broken, sorrowful one. She could not hold it in much longer. He released the staff, which stood on end as though it was still being held, and knelt down beside her and place a warm hand on her back, and another on her forearm. Even his chest tightened, the atmosphere so heavy, and all the sad faces. His own eyes threatened to water at seeing the heart shattering grief in Theolandra's face. He remained there for a few moments, and then looked up at Laniz, nodding. It seemed best if everyone returned to their seats until the procession began. He moved to help Theo to her feet, and made guided her to her seat, the staff following faithfully behind them.
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
blacknoise
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Post by blacknoise on Sept 20, 2015 5:28:36 GMT
Eoin watched with half-dead eyes as the mother apologized to the Queen, he made no visible response as the Queen knelt to speak the child, but he was not around long enough to see her reaction. It was not that Eoin was off-put by the whole situation, rather, the Faun simply hated funerals. As he stepped outside the garden, the faun withdrew his pipe and lit it with a match as he started walking off. Eoin was, perhaps, the only one who did not wish to seek vengeance for Arthur's death. Justice? Of course he wished for that, lest the killer strike again. However, revenge was something beyond the faun, something he was simply not capable of. Therefore, he was unable to understand the situation as well as the others were.
So off he walked, smoking his pipe, followed by the long procession of black and red that slowly made their way away after paying their respects.
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#ea7ca1
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Jan 27, 2019 20:04:50 GMT
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Leb
The loneliest are the kindest. The saddest smile the brightest. The most damaged are the wisest.
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August 2015
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Post by Leb on Sept 23, 2015 6:02:28 GMT
Loretta was one of the first who had joined the procession yet sat the furthest away from the casket that held Arthur. She had already paid her respects to the queen before the funeral as she was needed for questioning being the only witness around. She had her Alibi, Ariana and Eoin vouching for her time spent at The Horse Head, and recounted the events that lead to her finding the body. Loretta showed up at the funeral out of respect but wished she wasn't there. The past nights were spent in discomfort and she had little sleep due to the fear of becoming a victim like Arthur had in the catacombs that she frequented to. She was still in shock after finding the body and.. oh gods not again! She ran out of the gardens tears sliding down her cheeks as she held one hand over her mouth, not noticing the people around her. She didn't even know they were there. Nobody was there. No one, she was alone. She- Loretta began to heave as sickness took hold of her. No matter how much her body tried, there was nothing left for her to upchuck which only left her gasping for air like a fish out of water. That very well could have been her in that casket.
And what made it worse, she would never be able to thank him properly. Arthur, she was sure, was visiting the very unmarked grave she would he was visiting a friend, her friend.. their friend. And this was the same Arthur Annabell had told her about many years ago. Annabell Verane, oh how she had forgotten her in this madness! Now the two would be reunited but at such a young age.. No. She needed to stop this. She needed to leave. To be far away from this tragedy. She needed Eoin.
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Aug 15, 2015 17:44:50 GMT
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Post by Guest on Sept 25, 2015 22:32:43 GMT
Laniz was speechless. The grip she had on her daughter had fallen flat until both hands rested gently on her sobbing shoulders. Was this really happening? Laniz couldn't remember the last time Story cried. No, that was a lie. Memories of a little girl crying over the pages of a favorite book flashed across her mind. But in public? In front of people? Never! It was so unexpected. Thankfully everyone dispersed to diffuse the scene. Lady Theolandra was lifted from her knees and guided to her seat. The faun left the funeral with his procession of mourners..
"Shh," Laniz hushed bent at the waist. "It'll be okay, milá. We can wait here if you want to.."
From the bottom of the Royal Garden steps Alice watched the entire ordeal. Stunned into silence she watched her older sister cry helplessly. Story was stronger. Story was smarter and sharper with people. How could she have been beaten so easily? She must've liked Lady Theolandra or respected her at least. Arthur, too. She made her way to the top one slow step at a time then reached out to take her sister's hand into her own.
"Don't cry, Story. It's ugly," Alice said with a brash familiarity that was only shared by siblings.
Willem watched the exchange from his seat in the mournful crowd. Vivienne held his shoulder while he did. The younger girls were left at home by Willem's urging. He would protect them as long as he could from tragedies like this. They'd lost enough loved ones for a lifetime and they were still so young. But he knew they weren't stupid, which was what troubled his mind while watching Alice and Story.
"What do the Divines expect from children? What kind of world creates monsters that do this to them?"
Vivienne only narrowed her lips. "You know they were only caught in the cross-fire, brother. That's why we're here to protect them, to protect our own," she said. "You can't save all of them from Udel's plan."
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#ed1717
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Annasiel
At last, my peace. I found it in her eyes.
369
Aug 13, 2015 22:40:06 GMT
August 2015
annasiel
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Post by Annasiel on Sept 27, 2015 5:57:01 GMT
Story's face was hot from tears and anger. How could they dare... how could they all dare... this was not the way things were supposed to go. Reality had become unpredictable. The most constant of people were changing.
Arthur is dead and gone forever, but I don't care. The queen acts strange, and I lose my mind. What's wrong with me? Why can't I understand me? Why can't I stop...
The girl turned away from her mother's attempt at affection, hugging herself tightly. This was just so unnatural. It felt dirty, filthy, something that shouldn't be touched upon.
What feels like that? What is this?
Story couldn't answer.
"Don't cry, Story. It's ugly," her sister said.
I can feel the breath madness at my neck. It's ugly. You undisciplined brat.
"SHUT UP!" she shouted, throwing a wild punch at her sister's face. She pushed her mother off, and sprinted beyond the hedges and out of site.
Only when she found herself alone somewhere in the garden did the tears stop.
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#ed1717
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Sept 9, 2017 19:51:41 GMT
5
Lev
191
August 2015
admin
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Post by Lev on Sept 28, 2015 18:23:42 GMT
Theolandra followed Isengrim to her seat with a forlorn expression, guilt and sadness dragging down her features. Her hand clung loosely to his grip on her forearm and remained there after they'd been seated, finding the smallest comfort in it. Clouds passed over the sky, delivering shadow and another early-autumn chill.
"I shouldn't have done that," the queen said lightly, to no one, staring ahead toward the pyre that was prepped to burn.
"Death ends life, not love. Love is how one stays alive, even when they are gone," was the introduction of a small finely dressed priest. He had a large nose that seemed to swell across his face, and small eyes that looked like shiny beads hiding behind wrinkles. He carried a leather-bound book filled with scriptures, undoubtedly reading from Milova's passage. An amulet with seven different colored stones dangling from his neck. Each stone was centered inside of a circle, and all of the circles interlaced creating one shared point at the center. Only those who handled the passage of death carried such talismans..
"When someone we love dies, and we are not expecting it, we don't lose them all at once; we lose them in pieces - the way scent fades from their earthly clothes, and dreams fade from memory after we wake. It is not our place to question Milova's agonizing gift, this excruciating love for life that empowers us and cripples us. What I do ask you to question is this," he paused. "Who felt so bold as to steal the life of this man? Who dared to declare ownership of his soul by snatching it with their mortal hands?
The land trembles with fury at this passing, and its creators gaze upon it red-eyed. Sympati weeps as we weep - until it feels like our bones can no longer hold us up! Svitani's golden trumpet does not sing and Idvesta's anger boils deep within the ground, rumbling." The small man's face had become red with heat. The wrath of injustice to his Divines was almost too much. Another pause before he began again, calmer. "I digress, children of Den. I will leave you with these words.. Arthur Midas was a beloved man, a friend, and a protector. Our lives, this world, will be a little bit duller forever more without him."
The leather book closed with a SNAP. The priest's assistance lowered himself to take the text. Silently, the stocky man lowered his head in prayer, mouthing an incantation that would bring a spark of flame to life on the edge of the pyre. Magic-wielders readied themselves at this, prepared to douse the fire if it got out of hand and mentally maintaining the range of the flames. The height of the fire grew, consuming Arthur's lifeless form feet first.. and as much as the grievers hoped against hope, he did not rise to fight its heat. The fire would burn for hours more into the night, and forever in the memory of the mourners that watched.
[END]
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