Memories [Open]

[Martel Kilyre]

Memories could be painful. And Martel had a few of them she didn't care to disclose to those around her. And right now she was staring one of the harmful ones in the face. Thankfully, when Martel showed up three years ago to take over the convientally unowned pub, nobody had remembered. Not anyone she knew. Few of the faces in Avaren were recognizable to her, most of the people she had known were gone.

The gravestone she stood over was chipped, the message worn out, but Martel knew it by heart. She murmured it as she stood there, lips moving but the words not reaching past them. Her black hair was pull back in a ponytail, but the loose bangs covered one side of her pale face. Unlike her usual outfit, the tavernkeeper wore a thick black cloak around her shoulders, the hood pulled up over her head. The cascade of material fell down around her leather boots, making her no more than a shadow in the graveyard.

When the shadows close,
and the earth heaves
Find the light
And learn to fight.

It was corny, dramatic. But it had been his favorite line in his favorite song, and at Martel's wishing, they'd carved it on his gravestone.

With a sigh, the tavernkeeper turned away and looked over the rest of the graves. She wondered how many of the coffins beneath her feet held the corpses of vampires who would rise when dark officially arrived.

[Horu]

"May Bahamut protect the souls of those that have passed from this life to the next, and allow them all to rest in peace." Came the quiet, solemn voice of a man standing before a majority of the graves. Not far from from the woman that was mourning the passing of her friends. He spoke to Call attention to himself in a fasion that didn't show hostility. He had no desire to frighten the young woman.

As he spoke his had brushed against opn of the metal scales of his armor. under which was hidden the medallion that bared the image of his lord. His prayer had been more than just fancy words to ease the mind of the listeners it had been a calling to his diety to fore stall and dark powers that may seek resurrect the dead. The bodies would rest in their tombs as they should for the rest of the night.

[Martel Kilyre]

Martel looked up when the man spoke, drawing closer, watching him silently. His words were little pieces of comfort to her heart, and she didn't know whether to ignore him and go home or continue the encounter. She looked back down at the gravestone and the lump of soil of the coffin some six feet below. Maybe. Graves had been getting shallow as of late, as people stopped caring less. When the floods came and washed the corpses into the kitchens, then someone would care. But for the moment, no one cared if the dead were properly buried.

And that would explain the restless spirits Martel had often spotted among the graves, hovering over the places where their bones rested below. She bit her lip, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, and turned to the man. Religion had never been something she cared for. She believed there was someone up there, and perhaps a 'bad place' to go to if you did wrong, but she kept to her own beliefs. That someday she'd die, and perhaps that would be the end of it.

"I guess that's all we can hope for," Martel said quietly, raking over his form with dark eyes. Her pale face was a mere blur in the dark of the hood. "Do priests always ask favors for the dead?"

[Horu]

The man lower his hood showing his artificial human features. He was in truth a dragonborn, but showing his true self would more than likely be taken as more evil than good. He smiled down at the woman. "I'm no priest. I'm a warrior and I fight for my lord, Bahamut. I like the the undead no more than any sane person. and as shallow as these graves seem i thought the dead could use some help staying where they are."

He looked back at the graves. "So who is it you are here to visit?"

[Martel Kilyre]

Martel watched him a moment longer. There was something off about his features, but with the many races of Avaren, she didn't worry about it too much. Some foreigner, she mused. A Paladin, he must be, a foreigner, Martel decided.

"I don't want to be rude. But I don't think a few words will keep them from doing what they want," Martel murmured. "Not even the gods can control the rain. At least, I don't believe that."

She looked back at the gravestone, at the words worn well away by time and wind or rain. Both, probably. "He is a friend. That's all anyone needs to know."

The tavernkeeper didn't give him much to respond to intentionally. She wanted him to go away. Maybe he would if she was unfriendly.

[Horu]

Well she seemed to be rather rude? Had Horu struck a nerve, if so he hadn't meant to. "It's not the words that keep the dead in their hallows its my faith. And if you wish for me to leave all you have to do is ask." He said turning to walk away.

[Martel Kilyre]

Martel frowned, and tried not to sound exasperated when she spoke. "You don't have to go. Can't someone be inquisitive without someone taking offense?" The last part was whispered so he couldn't hear. He didn't look the type to draw a sword on a woman, but she'd had bigger surprises.

"I don't...want you to leave," she said, wincing as she said it. She meant it, sure, but it wasn't easy for Martel to apologize. The tavernkeeper was used to being rather blunt. Besides. He'd invaded her solace. Not the other way around. But still. She didn't want him to leave. "I'm not quite a lady, am I?"

[Horu]

He stopped and turned back around. "Sorry if I snapped. I'm just new around here. I guess its a bit stressful, being in a place I don't recognize." He wanted to say he was use to being treated with more respect, but he knew it wasn't his place.

"And you're just fine. Want to tell me about this friend of yours? Did he lead a good life?"

[Seth Roshan]

It would be too easy to say that Seth happened upon the cemetery. But the truth is that no necromancer ever simply happened upon a graveyard. The dead had been twisting and turning over in their graves long before Seth's arrival in Avaren. Their improper burials had left the dead unsatisfied and ill at rest. The amount of restless dead was staggering and their cries were like a beacon to those schooled in the dark magic of necromancy. The dead called to Seth, practically begged him to put them to use, that they might walk once more, rather than be trapped hovering between life and death as they did now.

A thousand silent screams of anguish sounded in the night as the paladin uttered his words of power to keep the dead in their graves. Screams of frustration that only the necromancer could hear reached Seth's ears as he neared the graveyard. The dead could sense him as easily as he could them.

As the tall man slowly plodded through the mossy grass of the dark and dusky graveyard, he noticed two figures already present. Whether or not they were aware of his presence mattered little to the necromancer. As he stepped into the pale moonlight, the shadowed figure finally took form. Even in the dim moonlight, his appearance was striking. Dressed almost entirely in black, he wore a toga like outfit made out of flowing black cloth that ended in a skirt like attachment that reached his knees, similar in a appearance to ceremonial robes that the mythical Egyptians of the lands of Earth wore. The left half of his chest and his entire left arm were bare, revealing the marble pale skin beneath the fabric. A purple sash stretched from his right shoulder, at a diagonal, across the covered portion of his chest and wrapped around his waist. The tasseled ends hung almost to his knees. A separate black sleeve covered his entire right arm, beginning at his shoulder and attached there with a gold chain and brooch. A black glove on his right arm, black pants, and black knee high boots completed the ensemble.

If his outfit did not bring attention to the figure, his physical appearance certainly did. The man was well built, lean and thin, but strong, with a princely face. There was, however, a sickly air about the man that one could not shake. It could be attributed to the dark circles under his red eyes or the unnatural paleness of his skin. Or maybe it was his hair. The man's hair was beautiful at first glance. It was black as night and hung far down, past his torso. But at a second glance, one would see that it hung limp and straight; lifeless. And a huge portion that hung in his face, effectively covering the right half, was bleached white. It looked as if all the life had been drained right out of it. He was a very strange man indeed.

However strange the man might have been, he genuinely wished to help this night. The necromancer had no use for an army of undead, nor for recently turned vampire servants. In fact, he had little wish to be revealed for what he was any time soon.

Tonight, he simply wished to do what little good could be done with the art of necromancy. It was little known that necromancy could also be used to calm the dead and to help put the restless spirits at peace. The ability to speak with the dead tended to come in handy for this purpose. For the moment, Seth merely wished to silence the multitude of voices in his head so that he was not driven insane long before his purpose in Avaren was fulfilled.

As Seth tried to filter out the individual needs and voices of the spirits and ascertain what the root of the problem was, he said, more aloud than to the others present, "The dead are restless and unsatisfied... It is cruel to bind them so to graves that only bring them misery."