A familiar figure looked over Jastrey's graveyard as the sun sank below the tree line. The masked woman stood with her arms crossed over her chest, yellow eyes peering over the tombstones of the towns fallen. She recognized a few of the names etched in stone from town, some she could even associate with faces. Rivka the goblin she remembered without difficulty. The others were names she had heard in passing, but had no idea who they were. She began to pace among the graves, pale fingertips brushing over weather-worn tombstones as she went. Was she supposed to feel some sort of kinship to the bodies beneath the soil, or some sort of comfort in being among the dead? It didn't seem that way. The only remarkable thing about the cemetery was the quiet. It was far enough from the bustle of town to avoid the noise but close enough to be reached if anything interesting happened. She paused in her stride with a hand on her hip, looking up to survey the tree branches above for possible resting places.
The dark, low famliar voice gently comes forth from the darkness from seemingly nowhere. "It's not often...I find company here among the living..."
A cascade of shadows crumbled away as the warlock's figure appeared on the other side of Binx. The warlock had a distinctive smell of brimstone about her, a dark smirk resting on her lips, standing calmly with her hands folded into her robe sleaves. Her visage was down cast, a few mounds down from Rivka's resting place, looking towards a headstone which had etched in it the name "Branwyn."
As the group was standing there, Leofrick walks throught the markers and notices the others. "Ah, I see you also find contempt in the company of the dead." Leofrick stops and kneels in front of a marker, speaks to the stone with a voice too low to hear, and traces the names etched in the stone "Angelik and Sofia, rest my loves I'll see you again one day."
Zwey was poking around the surrounding woods for the treasures that the forest offers, until he saw the gathering in the graveyard. The big angori grins and mutters something about urodeqs being mopey and a graveyard probably feels more like home than a soft bed and a warm body.
Xristo begins walking around town and hears the all to well chatter of people paying respect to the fallen. He walks over to the group and glances at all the names to see if he reconized any since his last visit to the place he now calls home. Upon finding none he pays respect to the fallen as a whole. Bids the others a farewell and goes about his way thru Jastery to see if anythang else was different.
So much for the quiet.
The Uordeq regarded Cail with a raised eyebrow, unsure of how to take his first statement. Her attention was soon turned to the warlock with the slightest snicker at her comment. She spared a glance towards Rasiri's son, not interrupting his mourning nor that of the man she did not know. She looked between Cail and Akon. "It has been a while..." came her soft greeting from behind the fabric that covered her face.
Akon's attention shifted with a slight quirk of her brow towards where the feathered hand appeared, her red burning gaze seeming to be brighter that usual as her eyes settled upon him. "Do you fancy often burying yourself, Idris? Or has that absurdly large blunt you favor gotten the best of you?"
Cail still knelt as he heard the all too familiar voice of Akon and his eye twitched at the sound, but otherwise he kept his position over Rivka's grave, hand still hovering above the ground.
"Rahn navere," he said under his breath.
He then dug his fingers into the earth just in front of the headstone and pulled a chunk of dirth out. Throwing it to the side he dug into the same spot again and rummaged around for a second until he stopped and pulled a palm sized gem from the ground. He brushed the gem free of debris and placed it in his belt pouch as he stood. Cail turned to faced the group of people looking to Binx and then to Akon where his gaze rested for a second longer than anyone else.
"It has been a while," he said as he returned his gaze to Binx. " Oh, and please excuse my previous comments, I was assuming you were looking for a place to... ah, well. Nevermind. Assuming gets one nowhere."
Cail patted his pouch and said, "It was nice too see... all of you, but I only came for this. However, if I may make an observation, so many of you seem to obsess over death, what with wandering around this place all the time. Some of you I understand, but others... it's intriguing, yet sad. Kor omi talithusant und straltusant."
He doesn't get far when hearing that obsurd comment. His back still toward the group.
"My friend how does paying respect to your elders, family, and friends be condemed as obssesion? It's the same as visiting the moral form but now you only visit a maker with all that is left of their former self being their name."
Cail turned his head towards Leofrick with a look of disregard on his face.
"Exactly that. You visit them long after their corpses have started to decay and insist upon calling them 'family'. You insist upon relating rotting corpses to memories of real people, for that is what they are: memories and only memories. They are inside your head, not part of the world anymore and there is no need to visit their remains to 'talk' to them. This is a terrene obsession that borders on delusion."
He then turned to look at the other person who addressed him and furrowed his brow as he spoke to him.
"Friend? I have no idea who you are and you imply that we are friends? I have only a select few who I call that and I daresay that you are not among them. A stone is a stone and a memory is a memory as I have said. If we imagine things in your world, we are personifying rocks to look and feel like real people. That in and of itself is a delusion and has no place in a world of sane people. Also, respect can be kept within the mind. It's not like the dead can hear the living anyway so it is all wasted time, energy, and breath trying to 'talk' to them by visiting their final resting place. It is a hole in the ground that holds bones and old flesh, nothing more."
"Now now, no need to be angry Cail." Leofrick stood and turned towards Cail, with a stoic look upon his face. "But my question to you is, why must you worry about what we are doing here? You obivously came for a reason, and i take it that you are finished with that reason."
Akon's sharp eyes caught every motion that Cail made, sensitives ears logging the muddled words he spoke, but nothing of the sort was apparent on her face. The simple eye would notice her focus remaining upon the grave of Branwyn before her, a small dark smirk coming to her lips as she said quietly. "Ah....but they do speak, and their corpses still provide a connection, even if they in spirit are long lost. There is a reason I burn those which I deem...worthy. To ability to raise ashe into a form of use is....immensely difficult." She stated. "But it is rude to disturb the dead. Bringing their focus back to this miserable plane of existence is something I avoid unless absolutely necessary. And even then, they have a choice to answer...." She smirked a bit darker at that. "Most of the time..."
Finian noticed the crowd gathered in the graveyard on his way back to town and made his way into the hallowed ground overhearing the warlocks words as he entered.
"It is more than rude to disturb the dead, it is profane." Finian stated sternly to the warlock.
"To contact the dead in such a manner disturbs the natural progression of death and hinders them from reaching their final judgement at the Gates of Judgement. It's pretty offensive that you would be so arrogant as to determine who is "worthy" of getting the rest they deserve as a natural right." Finian finishes with a scowl.
Akon looked to the paladin as he approached, eyeing him over with a slight look of disapproval, but doesn't bother letting her attention linger on him long. "I believe you misheard me. I burn those who one would call 'friend' so that they may not be raised again. It is an honor and a display of respect. My word worthy would be a suitable replacement in my culture for the word 'friend' in yours. Though there is no direct translation. I believe one among your hunt frequents talking with the spirits. Perhaps you should go preach on his ears, paladin."
FInian nodded. "He does, however the spirits he communes with are not the Spirits of the dead, but the spirits found in nature, and they are hardly compelled by his actions."
Finian Continues "I understood you the first time, but that you would force cremation on some that you deem friends possibly without their consent is also morally reprehensible."
Binx gave Cail a nod in response to his apology, refraining from asking just what he had assumed, but the expression behind her mask changed when he pulled a something from a grave. As the small gathering began to bicker she shifted to lean her hip against the side of the stone nearest to her with her feet crossed, standing in-between burial mounds. Her eyebrows arched in amusement as she silently observed them questioning each other's reasons for visiting the cemetery, defending their mindsets about death, and then of course someone had to show up to defend the sanctity of the dead. It was obvious nothing had changed since she had come to Jastrey, it still took little to turn the townsfolk against one another.
It was not long before she began to grow weary of the conversation, her gaze moving to the treeline where a laugh had rang out. She sniffed behind the thin fabric over her nose, curious as to who was eavesdropping on the conversation.
Akon chuckles. 'I've had no objections so far. And you assume I always compel the dead to speak. My talents are broader than that, dear Finian. Besides, I'm sure you have something better to do than to heckle a little ol' warlock. Might want to spend more time with your gaggle. You say Blisdon communes only with the living, but I've seen him commune with the dead...perhaps you should get to know those you call ally better. May serve you well."
Finian laughs but is hardly amused. "I was unaware Practitioners of dark magic could use their magic in any other way than by force, unless you have something or someone that helps you communicate. As far as knowledge my allies, I know Blisdon, and I know he has never forced the dead to speak. I'd also wager I know him better than you."
Finian rests agaisnt a tree. "There is never a better day spent than trying to save those who are almost certiantly doomed to the Maw of Damnation."
Cail looks to Leofrick as he leaves and says to himself, "You haven't seen me angry, boy."
He turned to face Akon as he heard her speak and said, "Oh, yes! The dead talk... of course they are only echos of what they were and can only regurgitate what they know under pressure. Other than that they are lifeless cadavers who should be left alone in the dark of the ground."
"Enough eves dropping, there is to much to be said" Zwey proceeds to move towards the group. As he enters, he passes the one called Binx, and offers a smile, and goes to place an understanding hand on her shoulder. He continues to Akon, where he drapes his massive arm over her thin shoulders, ready to join in defending her practices. "Now, Sir Finian, I must ask you, one of the duties as a paladin is to protect the rights and freedoms, the decision making abilities of intelligent races. Who are you to decide what my slight friend here can and cannot do with her soul? I may be new to the town, but I am well traveled, as are many of my people, and we know many a warlock who use their rather nefarious powers for the good of many. And, how entertaining is it to see the Pit's immense power used for 'good'?"
"I would tell you to pull your head out of your ass, but it's so far up the witches that I'd be surprised if all the kings horses and all the kings men could ever pull your horns back out of her again."
The cool, Gruff voice of the once-dwarf echoed from nearby as he made his way to the center of the group, his arms tucked underneath each other as he held them close to eachother for warmth. Smoke and steam both billowed from his mouth in equal measure as he expelled a tired groan from his body.
"You're new, and you think you have a pretty good picture of the town. I understand this,Truly. You want to be liked and you want to have friends who care about your wellbeing. So you defend your 'friends' rom the perceived meanies in town, without trying to step on too many toes in the process."
"You want to talk about rights and freedoms?" Blisdon took a long, slow inhale of his lit cigarette and slowly let it float from his nostrils "Lets talk about the right to stay safe, do you think this town really needs a warlock at all? No. It doesn't. We kill warlocks and infernal fiends FOR SPORT AND AMUSEMENT ON A HOT AFTERNOON, yet we welcome this one in like a harmless and hungry kitten? It's no question that sooner or later her taint will spread like termites in wood, One fooled newcomer at a time. You deserve better to be tricked that she's something more than a con artist, That she's something better than your run of the mill necromancer with a chip on their shoulder, But where do I find her when I go for my evening winter smoke?"
"In a Stereotypical graveyard"
Blisdon then leveled his eyes over to Binx
"With Jastrey's newest vampire."
Blisdon turned his head towards his paladin friend.
"Arguing about forcing corpses to talk, and the value of her dry and husky soul."
With a cocked eyebrow, Blisdon eyeballed the fellow shaman across the way, still covered in gravedirt.
"I don't even want to speculate as to why they are burying you in the dirt."
The Uordeq Shaman turned his flat head back towards Zwey, makng a bizarre handgesture which mimicked holding a loaded matchlock lazily turned towards the side and aimed at the Angori's head before snapping his wrist backwards in an imaginary charade of firing the pistol.
"Boom. Fuckin' headshot on your argument right here. Try harder."
The smaller woman moved out from under Zwey's hand just as soon as it made contact, shooting him a scornful look. Her yellow glare turned to Blisdon, unphased by his tirade. Lazily lifting both palms upward, she gestured to the small gathering. "Yes, we're all here dying for yet another long-winded sermon from you," the droll words seeped from behind her mask, surprisingly jovial for the Uordeq who rarely spoke. The squabbling about death and it's morals was almost comical to the nearly departed but she hadn't come back to Jastrey to join in on a pissing contest between the warlock and every paladin, shaman, and whatever else that deemed itself holier-than-thou.
She turned her back on all of them and headed into the trees, audibly griping "And here I was, under the impression that graveyards were quiet..."
Zwey looks at Blizdon with a look of honest concern. He lifts his thick arms, and walks toward the shaman. He embraces Blizdon in a gentle bear hug, and gives him a little pat on the back. "Shhhhh, its ok, here, have this attention. It's what you've always wanted right? Here you go sir, free of charge." He holds the urodeq at arms length, and states, "Its ok, you'll have friends someday too." With that, he starts after Binx, saying something about the shaman belongs on the wall of a tool shed somewhere.
"Lets hope your blade isn't as dull as your wit, or your friends will be hard pressed to find a worthwhile reason to keep you in their kennels." Blisdon's hot and smoky breath tickled the Angori's ears as he whispered into the angori's ears, returning the hug and pulling him tightly into a snug embrace.
After breaking the lengthy hug, he scratched his hair, as if lost in thought to find a good retort to the vampire, before ultimately sighing and squinting at Binx behind a furrowed brow.
"I didn't give you a sermon, I like you for the most part. I just imagine all you do is suck down some blood and chill out in graveyards. That's not schemin' around with power's that'll mess you and everyone around ya' up really. "
The shaman snorted with a sort of bizarre nod and scrunched expression painted on his face, with his shoulders and arms locked into a shrug- as if a plan didn't go according to plan, but was still within acceptable parameters.
"Could be worse, yeah?"
Finian nods. "You are, I am stern because this is a very serious matter. You understand the implications of your wicked magic leaves it's mark on your soul so much so it has begun to alter your very being; and will contine to so long as you continue to use the dark arts. While the flame of your life still flickers you have time to save yourself from damnation. The pit takes what is of the pit, and the other gates will reject those that bear its mark."
Finian looks at the fleeing angori and adresses his comments. "You are mistaken, I can not make decisions for the warlock, but I also can not in good conscience simply ignore her continued use of dark magic and the effects on her soul. She does use her powers for the good of many, but what of the cost? It is not worth seeing anyone sent to a place of eternal damnation and torment. The powers are also disruptive to the natural order of the world and warps the land itself. I'd hardly call the use of any use of infernal magic entertaining, even when it is turned against the demons themselves. It is a vile magic that destroyes the user and the mortal realm."
"Tch... this talk of souls and their being corroded... it bores me. And some shouldn't speak about things they know little of," said Cail as he threw his hood over his head.
"I think I'll leave you all to your petty squabbling for I will have no more of it."
Cail then turned towards the Mages Tower and walked on.
"Hmmm... this place seems to suit you, don't you think," said Cail aloud as he strode towards the gravestones. He paused in front of Rivka's marker and knelt, putting his hand over the now long untilled soil.
"I guess the dead need a watchful eye placed upon them. Especially in this town."