BlackAndBlueEyes
01-15-15, 07:54 AM
It always rains at funerals.
The steady pitter-patter against my umbrella had worked wonders in drowning out the words of the priest as he stood over the open grave. Something about the blessings of gods as the spirit passed into the afterlife; I never paid attention to religious bullshit like this.
His name was Archibald, and he was an artificer of some renown. Learned his craft in Alerar, apprenticing with several of the dark elf masters of machines and alchemy. He returned to his homeland of Salvar in his thirties and began working on several projects that raised the hackles of the Church, since they're a bunch of backwards assholes who have several sects within that cult of theirs that consider the works of people like Archibald and myself crimes against humanity.
It came as some surprise, then, that he died of old age rather than at the hands of witch hunters.
The gathered mourners numbered about three dozen, mostly close family members and a few other researchers. I mostly kept to myself, bundled up in black mourning garb and the enchanted scarf around my neck that passed me off as a freckle-faced ginger--it would do me no good to flash my briar-knit arms and plague-addled eyes at a place like this. We remained silent as the priest went through the motions with his rites. He performed them with a machine-like efficiency, a man well-learned at his craft. The winter had been long and hard in southern Salvar, and he found himself with many opportunities to practice.
Ashes were scattered on Archibald's coffin, the final words of remembrance were said, and blessings for the mourners were given. One by one, the black-clad crowd began to go back to their lives as the two gravediggers began shoveling mounds of muddy earth into the hole where the artificer and alchemist would find his eternal rest. Minutes later, I found myself alone, standing at the foot of the grave. My lips were pursed in a thin line, my eyes staring at the grave but not really looking at it.
The priest slowly stepped towards me, his boots sloshing against the rain-soaked ground. He held his holy book tight against his chest, lest any errant rain drops soak its pages underneath his own umbrella. I flinched slightly as he set his bony hand on my shoulder. "He is in the hands of the gods now, my child," he said with a warm smile.
I offered him a curt, impatient grin of my own, wishing he would just get his rehearsed lines of comfort out of the way and piss off. He said more words to me that I promptly ignored before walking away, finally leaving me alone with the gravediggers and the coffin.
The taller of the two men buried the tip of his spade in the ground and leaned on the handle as he watched the priest leave. I turned my head and gazed over my shoulder to make sure that the elderly man was gone for good before I turned back to the workers. The shorter, squatter, and balder man, his chest heaving from actually having to perform physical labor for once, arched an eyebrow in my direction.
I nodded to the two. "Dig him up and let's get the hell out of here."
The steady pitter-patter against my umbrella had worked wonders in drowning out the words of the priest as he stood over the open grave. Something about the blessings of gods as the spirit passed into the afterlife; I never paid attention to religious bullshit like this.
His name was Archibald, and he was an artificer of some renown. Learned his craft in Alerar, apprenticing with several of the dark elf masters of machines and alchemy. He returned to his homeland of Salvar in his thirties and began working on several projects that raised the hackles of the Church, since they're a bunch of backwards assholes who have several sects within that cult of theirs that consider the works of people like Archibald and myself crimes against humanity.
It came as some surprise, then, that he died of old age rather than at the hands of witch hunters.
The gathered mourners numbered about three dozen, mostly close family members and a few other researchers. I mostly kept to myself, bundled up in black mourning garb and the enchanted scarf around my neck that passed me off as a freckle-faced ginger--it would do me no good to flash my briar-knit arms and plague-addled eyes at a place like this. We remained silent as the priest went through the motions with his rites. He performed them with a machine-like efficiency, a man well-learned at his craft. The winter had been long and hard in southern Salvar, and he found himself with many opportunities to practice.
Ashes were scattered on Archibald's coffin, the final words of remembrance were said, and blessings for the mourners were given. One by one, the black-clad crowd began to go back to their lives as the two gravediggers began shoveling mounds of muddy earth into the hole where the artificer and alchemist would find his eternal rest. Minutes later, I found myself alone, standing at the foot of the grave. My lips were pursed in a thin line, my eyes staring at the grave but not really looking at it.
The priest slowly stepped towards me, his boots sloshing against the rain-soaked ground. He held his holy book tight against his chest, lest any errant rain drops soak its pages underneath his own umbrella. I flinched slightly as he set his bony hand on my shoulder. "He is in the hands of the gods now, my child," he said with a warm smile.
I offered him a curt, impatient grin of my own, wishing he would just get his rehearsed lines of comfort out of the way and piss off. He said more words to me that I promptly ignored before walking away, finally leaving me alone with the gravediggers and the coffin.
The taller of the two men buried the tip of his spade in the ground and leaned on the handle as he watched the priest leave. I turned my head and gazed over my shoulder to make sure that the elderly man was gone for good before I turned back to the workers. The shorter, squatter, and balder man, his chest heaving from actually having to perform physical labor for once, arched an eyebrow in my direction.
I nodded to the two. "Dig him up and let's get the hell out of here."