Varga
Full Member
Thicc Girl
Posts: 211
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Post by Varga on Oct 23, 2021 10:45:35 GMT
A small and somber congregation assembles in the courtyard of Fort Ettin.
Oziah stands silently in the back, among the onlookers, along with Lord Jaezred and Laurel.
Kavel sets the beginnings of a bust next to the front of the assembly and joins the crowd.
The dark outline of Sorrel can just be maid out among the shadows. Wren shyly puts a large plate of cookies on a catering table, along with Celina's apple basket. One cookie goes to cover a large glass of alcohol that nobody will touch that day.
Varga finishes the last preparations, and a little chinchilla says an awkward speech about a person who he wished he had more time to know and who taught him to speak not a week ago.
A sad ballad performed by Felix, accompanied beautifully by Dwirhian, as all eyes look up. Small raindrops start falling, as if the sky itself misses a familiar cursive across it...
Goodbye, Faust.
The ceremony starts out with just the small gathering of you and your companions. As one by one you step forward to say your farewells, you notice that there are faces in the windows and doorways leading to the courtyard. Soon more people spill out into the yard, keeping a respectful distance. Then Coll steps from the crowd.
"I can't say I knew Faust for long, but I could tell he was a good man. While working the Great Hall, I loved listening to his stories. His poetry. His songs. He has gone back to the earth, and we are all - all of us - the poorer for it. We will never see his like again."
A murmur of ascend goes through the crowd.
As you eventually turn to leave, other adventurers new and seasoned clasp your shoulders, murmur words of support and give you nods of approval. Coll brings the wake into the Great Hall and the ale flows freely that night.
"You have done well." He says to you.
*This is a communal thread, please feel free to add your own characters' thoughts and feelings to it.*
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Post by Jaezred Vandree on Oct 23, 2021 11:26:18 GMT
Though he does not have anything to say, Lord Jaezred leaves a single white rose and a page of a poem he thinks Mr. Greyheart would've liked as a tribute. For the remainder of the ceremony, he stands next to Lady Oziah Daybreaker , silently discouraging anyone who looks like they are about to approach the pair by a shake of the head. As the rain starts to fall and the last of the speakers leave the podium, he casts the message cantrip to Oziah without looking at her, subtly hiding his moving lips behind a fist. " I've given much thought to your request. I will agree, on two conditions: first, you will inform me of any run-ins you had or will have with either Farstep or Jack; second, you must be discreet and keep this all strictly to yourself. Let us go to my room to discuss further." He turns to her with a sombre smile. "Would you care to join me for some mulled wine, Lady Oziah?" |
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Post by stephena on Oct 23, 2021 12:05:24 GMT
Sorrel is about to take a cup from Coll, but stops just in time. Alcohol and the death of a comrade triggers the darkness. She likes these people. There are things they should not see. She turns to leave, then sighs and turns back. She has an overdeveloped sense of vengeance that will get her in trouble someday. This Langstrom, or whatever its name is, clearly has great power. Eventually, she will need allies. Her gaze rests on Kavel's broad shoulders, and she nods thoughtfully, briefly imagining a sword in her hand and her favourite phrase:  "Hello, my name is Sorrel Darkfire. You killed Faust Greyheart. Prepare to die." Then she shakes her head. Revenge is best left very cold when dealing with disintegration. But she will not forget. And she slips off into the rain. |
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Post by Oziah Daybreaker on Oct 23, 2021 12:18:06 GMT
She does not move. Like a statue carved from marble and shadow she beholds the proceedings, Deimos to her left and Lord Jaezred to her right. They shield her from anyone who might want to commiserate or extend pointless platitudes. Dwirhian looks at the party but at a small shake of the head from Lord Jaezred she understands, nods once and moves away. Dwirhian was always good with people. Oziah never really had the knack.
"I did not think you cared so deeply for the bard." Deimos voice rumbles in her head, deep and comforting despite the distinct lack of any kind of sympathy.
"Neither did I. He was annoying and bumbling. His poetry was horrendous."
"You don't read poetry. I'm not sure you are the best judge of his prose."
"His dinner jacket was so hideous it was offensive."
"You are covered in mud from the training yard."
"He was ancient. If his hips weren't giving out, his knees were holding us back, time and time again. Why was he even out there? He should have lived out his last years in a quiet village somewhere."
"He was out there to help his friends."
She closes her eyes against the onslaught. In the distance, Felix has begun singing. She grits her teeth.
The rain starts falling in heavy droplets. Deimos raises a thin, skeletal wing over her head to shield her from it.
"You will avenge him, child. And I will help you do so."
Her thoughts turn from the memory of the small pile of dust on the floor of a cave to the man standing over it, crossbow in hand.
She ponders the different ways she could strip Langston Farstep's flesh from his bones.
Lord Jaezred's voice filters into her mind like a spider climbing a web without disturbing the delicate netting. She opens her eyes.
"I would like nothing better, my Lord."
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Post by Delilah Daybreaker on Oct 23, 2021 15:10:15 GMT
Soft purring vibrates against her ear as the Pale Daughter watches the adventurers recite words in tribute for the fallen, elderly tiefling.
Delilah did not like versemakers — or bards as they were better known. Too often they were full of themselves, thinking the sun shone out of their ass. But this one was… different. She had met Faust Greyheart in passing at the Fort a couple of times and he had been one of the rare exceptions to her rule to not trust versemakers. She also had mad respect for a mortal who would call an Archfey a coward so openly as he had — another like him will never be again, that’s for sure. Perhaps it was his age though that made him more bearable to the Pale Daughter. The younger they are the more-
A guitar riff screeches across her thoughts as a dwarf begins to play some music in tribute. Delilah scowls.
Her dark eyes pick out Oziah in the crowd like a parched man who smells fresh water. She stands across the way beside the tall, white haired drow sorcerer, Lord Jaezred. Delilah’s eyes narrow as the two walk off together. She thought she caught the mage pointing to Oziah — a telltale sign of some kind of telepathic message magic — but Delilah could not see or hear what was said. Little Beastie picks up on the tension in her shoulders and stops purring, looking between her and the two retreating figures. Delilah’s heart drums an echoing rhythm through her body that makes her think of the quiet moment they shared in her rooms earlier. Her breathing quickens as Oziah disappears into the Fort proper.
”Mmrph.”
The Pale Daughter wrenches her eyes away as she pulls her hood up. It looks like it’s going to rain.
“I helped her how I could. Now she goes to scheme with another.” Delilah slips past other adventurers until she is at the curtain wall of the Fort.
“Mroww,” came the insistent response from the feline.
“No, I’m not jealous.” She steps into one shadow and emerges from another sixty feet up the wall of the Fort. “I’m cautious.”
Her own thoughts had been moving a mile a minute since Oziah had told her what had happened. Langston. Jack. Schemes and machinations. She had a job to do. She could not afford distractions.
The cat’s silent judgement catches her attention. Delilah looks at Little Beastie.
“I’m talking to you as if you can understand me,” she sighs. The cat continues to stare.
The Pale Daughter shakes her head, climbing and shadow walking the rest of her way back to her room. She needs to finish writing down what she had been told, so she could send it off with her next report.
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Post by Andy D on Oct 23, 2021 18:54:25 GMT
"Do you like your stone bust, Mr. Faust?” Kavel thought to himself.
It was hardly Kavel’s finest work. Nor was it even finished. As a stone mason, Kavel’s capacity for strength was better used as a quarryman extracting stone, or fixing shaped stone in place. He did not excel at carving stone into statues, let alone busts. But, he had managed to carve something that looked like it could resemble Faust Greyheart when completed. The bald head, the horns, a beard, and the top of Faust’s dinner jacket had taken form.
Gazing at the tribute he made to Faust, Kavel continued to speak to him, within the confines of his mind:
“You were a good comrade Mr. Faust. Effective with your magic words. Courageous too. Most impressive given your advanced age. I don’t know where you found the strength to face living suits of armour head on, and receive punishing strike after punishing strike. It was not as if you had my physical conditioning to do so. But, you did. It was crazy, but also very admirable.
I’ll put your bust in the library. I think it will be good there. All the visitors will be able to recognise what a good man looks like when they visit. I will not go to the library though. In Fort Ettin, I spend my time in the training grounds. Why would I go to the library? But, maybe I’ll come pay respect every now and again”
Kavel looked around to find someone he knew. Being taller than most people certainly helps in this endeavour. And wouldn’t you know it. For the first time ever, Kavel is able to spot Sorrel Darkfire in a crowd. The goliath walks to greet Sorrel.
“Comrade Sorrel. Good to see you. How are you? Have you seen Kavel’s Corner for Strength and Conditioning?...”
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Wren Lunaboult
Full Member
A crime teen with their crime team
Posts: 123
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Post by Wren Lunaboult on Oct 24, 2021 16:30:52 GMT
The menagerie of animals that always accompany Wren were the first to arrive, Percival the hyena showing the badger and fox where best to politely sit while quietly saying hello to the others present. Shortly after Wren had carefully walked up to the gathering group, holding a medium sized tin out in front of them that is placed on the catering table. They awkwardly nod to everyone they know, "I came as soon as I heard the news."
Slowly they take out a singular cookie from the pile in the tin, white icing with black words of motivational phrases badly piped on all of them. The phrases aren't quite on par with the skywrite phrases that Faust was so good at, but it's the best they could do. This partucluar one has the words 'Amazing Friend' shakingly added on. They place it down with everyone else's offerings, quietly saying "Umm, thank you. You were a badass, especially with a newspaper, and a thoughtful guy. So yeah, thank you for everything, you will be missed."
They back away to meld into the shadows at the back of the group where their animal companions are waiting, and if you see their eyes are slightly damper than usual well no you didn't.
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Dwirhian
Junior Member
Played by Jamie J
Posts: 80
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Post by Dwirhian on Oct 28, 2021 22:09:48 GMT
You notice Dwirhian quietly moving to the front, where she turns to face the group.
She talks about how Faust was a beautiful dancer, sometimes a little shaky but always in rhythm, always flowing through the music, always attentive to his partner, but most of all how his outstretched hand and twinkling eye could persuade a bunch of muddy, road-weary adventurers to get up and waltz round the camp-fire in the depths of a dark forest, and how if any of them trod on his toes he'd never ever mention it.
She says that he cared deeply about people, even complete strangers. She tells you all about the time he even organized a special mission to a possibly dangerous destination because he was worried that there might be people there who might need help, and how he ended up not only helping the people he thought might need it, but also probably hundreds of others who will never even know how he saved them.
She speaks fondly about how he always took the time to listen to her stories, and how that meant more to her than he could have known. When she came to the Dawnlands, she explains, she'd almost begun to feel that nobody cared about stories of wonder any more and that nobody really wanted to hear about the many tiny and huge and beautiful and terrifying and ordinary and extraordinary things that she'd experienced, but Faust always wanted to hear. She tells of his last birthday party – and you see her stop for a moment after saying this, shaken as she realizes that although she meant his most recent birthday party, the word 'last' was more true than she intended. Collecting herself, she tells how she'd only heard about the party at short notice and had no time to look for a gift, but gave him a quill pen and pot of ink that she herself had been given at a poetry competition in a café in Port Ffirst, and told him the curious tale of how the competition was almost disrupted by a drunken man and a magical cat. And how Faust thanked her so sincerely for the small gift and even more for the story behind them, and how he immediately made a note that he should visit that café, and how sad she is that he won't be able to.
She says she still doesn't really understand what happens when people who aren't elves die. She isn't even quite sure what happens with elves any more, not as sure as she used to be. And she doesn't understand why so many people have such short lives, especially people like Faust who had so much life in him and so much still to give and experience and share with others. But she hopes he's somewhere happy now, and she hopes he's dancing there.
She stands there still and quiet for a while, then walks back to join you and the others.
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