PRELUDE - Solemn Reflections

Eanwulf · Post by **Eanwulf** » Sun Oct 16, 2011 8:51 am

MOOD MUSIC Moonday 17 Lamashan 4711
Ravengro, The Restlands Cemetery
Roughly 10 p.m.
Gathered In Front of the Cemetery Gates

The evening hour is getting late and the night air damp with moisture. A gathering of people can be seen looming about outside the cemetery gates of the squalid little town of Ravengro. A funeral procession is being formed and for once it is not raining. The night's moon sheds its rays of light unwillingly and one struggles to see in front of them as a thin blanket of fog begins to slowly creep in. Somewhere in the distance, the cawing echoes of ravens can be heard and the night sky rumbles softly with the sounds of a not so distant thunder. Torches are lit as the procession forms, their luminant flames flickering wildly as they are buffeted about by the chilling winds that now blow in greater magnitude, hinting at another bout of rainfall. Several prominent figures of note can soon be seen lifting a heavy coffin upon their shoulders as the torchbearers then swing open the cemetery gates and prepare themselves to enter the cemetery grounds.

A loving daughter can be heard weeping softly as a trio of musicians begin to play a solemn tune. The funeral dirge marks the start of the procession's entrance into the cemetery grounds. *Thump* goes the funeral drummer as he bangs a single note upon his hollowed tom. *Rattle* goes the dirge bells as a lone musician shakes his wooden stick. *Dong* goes the thunderous sounds of an echoing bell as another musician draws the tune to a close and cues the funeral drummer to begin anew. As the procession makes its way into the cemetery, the pall bearers' minds drift away to another time. A time when the person that they now carry atop their shoulders was once alive...

Post by **Trogdor** » Sun Oct 16, 2011 9:42 am

At one corner of the coffin is a tall young man, muscular, but more wiry than bulky. He has short dark hair and blue eyes and wears a simple white tunic over a shirt of chain. Around his neck is the symbol of Iomedae, identifying him as one of her paladins. His hands bear the sign of weapon use, but also of work with tools. For sometimes he helps the people of Ustalav with a blade, and other times with hammer or saw. His eyes have a faraway look as he remembers when he first worked with Professor Lorrimor. He was a newly minted paladin then, fighting skeletons and zombies beside the surprisingly capable scholar. It was not so long ago, yest it seemed like ages. The pall bearer's name is Anric Varstov, called Ric by his friends. And he is here to mourn a teacher and a friend.

ardh05 · Post by **ardh05** » Sun Oct 16, 2011 9:45 am

Takeo stands in the middle right, wearing his best battle-garb in the custom of his people. His raven hair is kept in a tight ponytail, and his blue eyes shine with awareness of things beyond this world. "I have touched death so often, and yet this one left before me..."

EvilMonkey · Post by **EvilMonkey** » Sun Oct 16, 2011 12:22 pm

Variel guides the procession from the front right of the coffin. His light brown hair is cropped short and elegantly parted. His long ears sticking out and marking him as an elf. His normally vibrant emerald green eyes, seem dim, as though all the light has been drawn out of them. His normal garb is far to flamboyant for such an occasion, so instead he wears his dark leather armor and a simple black cloak, and even though drab in colour, the entire outfit seems to stand out.

He walks along, keeping a slow and methodical pace all the while remembering the man that inspired his current profession, his love of ancient things, and long forgotten histories. His stunningly green eyes look tot he heavens for the briefest of moments. "May the gods grant you peace, teacher..."

mackaber · Post by **mackaber** » Sun Oct 16, 2011 12:57 pm

A proud young woman, some would consider her a girl, is bearing the coffin on her shoulder. Clearly she is struggling with the task but she would not let anyone notice as she strides forward purposefully. Her blond hair flowing in the wind as she looks on solemnly somewhat lost in thought. She had been attracted to the professor she had even shared his bed. I had been special for her but she had never felt truly in love. But maybe he had felt differently, or maybe she had been the last. After all it was less than a year ago. Anyway this felt strange, she did not feel as if she deserved a part of the man's will and hoped his daughter did not know why she was in there afterall she was younger than her. That made it feel even more odd.

Chanur · Post by **Chanur** » Mon Oct 17, 2011 4:07 am

As he holds part of the coffin, Delphane a man of average height, and a thin build with dark brown hair and goatee starting to grey. He is dressed in silver robes, he seems to be trying to make a good show of holding the coffin up but he clearly has not seen hard physical labor in a long while.

His eyes seem distant as he remembers the day he first met the professor, the day they became friends and yes he even became a mentor. He had been walking in the woods when he came upon the professor so focused on his study he did not see the cut throat ambush about to happen. The professor swore he would never forget. Perhaps that is why he remembered me in his will.

It has been long since he has seen the faces of the other 5 here, much has changed, they seem more mature.

Post by **Vardaen** » Mon Oct 17, 2011 7:02 pm

The sixth pall bearer is a brute of a man, easily the largest of the group, save maybe for Ric. Indrazor, known as Razor among those that he allows close enough to be his fighting companions, for he has few friends. The man in the coffin one of his true friends, a man that thought him much, and that he owed even more too. Razor is a black cloaked half orc, his heavy mantle catching the rain and funneling it away from his hulking body. What he wears under it is impossible to see in the dark, the thick folds hiding all by his face.

His face, that is another story. The half orc has black hair with a long shock of white through it that goes from his forehead all the way into the pony tail that sticks from his helmet when he wears one. Over his left eye is a thick black eye patch; the eye under it is missing, the story of that pain still fresh in his memory.

With solemn steps forward he leads with Variel into the graveyard. "So its over old man..." he says once as he turns his head to look at the dark wooden coffin with his one eye. He glances up at the rest of you, a grimace on his face as his eyes lands on Ric. He turns back around, looking forward, but remember the past and his last venture with the Professor....

Eanwulf · Post by **Eanwulf** » Mon Oct 17, 2011 9:10 pm

MOOD MUSIC

The pall bearers' minds drift away to a time some two-and-a-half years ago where they are gathered together in the tiny little obscure village of Trellmont. Standing before Professor Lorrimor, they came to the village in order to investigate the disappearance of three of its local inhabitants. When inquiring the Professor about the nature of their mission, the gravely concerned scholar replies with the following.

"Since the dawning of the world, my young ones, spirits have roamed all over the lands. Many are amenable to sacrifice, and it is these that I keep at bay. Others can be called upon when there is need by employing the proper rituals. Yet some are perversions of nature, unnatural beings that cannot be controlled except by the greatest of magi workers. The demon-spirit of this village is such a one, and unfortunately my humble talents are not a match for its strong will."

"Every nine winters, during the full moon of each of the three months of cold, the demon-spirit awakens and hunts those who brave the dangers of the night. Having killed, the demon-spirit sleeps until the next full moon. After the demon-spirit has claimed three young men, it is satiated and dreams three years for each of the lives stolen."

"For unknown to many, this spirit seeks to relive the life that it feels was unfairly stolen from it. Killed as a young herdsman, the spirit would not travel on but was determined to live among flesh and blood. And so it hunts young men to give it another chance, though fleeting, at living."

Professor Lorrimor pauses to look his companions over, seeing if they truly have what it takes to become a hero, adding,

â€œWell, if we're determined to hunt it out, good luck to us all. All I can say is that I once sheltered a young girl who had lost her husband to this spirit. She told me that she saw it flying in the direction of the stream, going deeper into the hills up north. Now, spirits often live under pools of water, and this one's horrible enough to have a lake, so we might find it there, but don't blame me if we don't. Despite what some folks think, it's not anyone's fault that this thing has picked their village. It's just the way of life."

Professor Lorrimor finally bows his head sadly, then says,

â€œI wish us all of the luck that the gods will grant.â€

As the pall bearers' minds continue to drift along in thoughts of another time, the sounds of thunder still continue to rumble across the evening sky. Slowly, the funeral procession continues to march onwards. As it does, several large ravens descend to land atop the edges of nearby mausoleums. Staring down at the passersby with their beady lifeless black eyes, the birds quickly shake the water from their glistening feathers and eventually add their own cawing croons to the funeral dirge's chorus.

Eanwulf · Post by **Eanwulf** » Mon Oct 17, 2011 9:46 pm

MOOD MUSIC

As the funeral procession continues to march, additional ravens land and quickly gather en masse. Before long, the affair has quite the sizeable crowd of winged onlookers; each bent on adding their own tunes to the funeral's choir. Still the pall bearers' minds drift...

Mid-Winter 4709
Admist the Entrance to a Naturally Formed Limestone Cavern

The heroes minds drift to a time when they stand amidst the entrance to a naturally formed cavern. Having heeded the Professor's advice, the group has followed the stream's partially frozen riverbed into the surrounding hills where they have managed to discover a dried out branch of the stream that continues on to a most unnatural looking rock-pile at the base of a hill. Having just only recently cleared the rock-pile, the party now stands amidst the entrance to what appears to be a naturally formed limestone cavern, most likely created long ago by the streams "true" origins. The entrance to the cavern is about five feet wide and twelve feet long, with an eight foot ceiling. The floor is covered with brittle human bones, shredded rotting cloth, and a smattering number of coins.

"Egads!" exclaims Professor Lorrimor most frightfully as he points to the partially eaten body of a human male that lies upon the frozen ground. "I do believe that we have found the creature's lair!" The Professor points to a corpse that appears to have been clawed and bitten by some foul manner of beast, greatly mutilated but well-preserved by the cold. The body's limbs are shriveled and withered and its skull's eye sockets sunken and hollowed out into two empty pits, as if the man's soul had been literally "ripped" from its very body!

A feeling of dread overcomes the heroes as they suddenly realize that they are about to truly embark upon a most precarious form of adventure...

Post by **Vardaen** » Mon Oct 17, 2011 9:54 pm

Standing before the cave is a full suit of scale armor is Indrazor. He is a hulking half orc with short black hair cut around his face and tucked under his helm. His two bright eyes peer into the darkness of the cave, and his orcish heritage gives him a leg up as even the gloom and blackness of the passage doesn't hinder his ever watchful gaze. In one hand he holds a shield, strapped to his forearm, in the other a longsword. The blade is new, polished to a sheen, and it has seen no combat as of yet holding a razor's edge. His holy symbol, a simple wooden mark of Iomeade hangs from his neck, his black cloak hung up around him falling off his shoulders like a river.

He licks his tusks, and looks back at Anric with a smile. "You first or me friend?"

Fellowship of the Dice

PRELUDE - Solemn Reflections

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