Tramoric stepped through the people who gathered quickly around the scene, and interrupted the guards. “I’ve been here most of the afternoon, and I can vouch for his words,” he said calmly to the guards. “Just as this young Taraskind was observing people about the market, this man,” pointing to the corpse “approached with four armed thugs who ran away just before you arrived. One of them has a blade still wet with blood.”
“I’d like to observe the wounds, sirs. May I?” Without missing a beat, he turns to the Taraskind and extends his hand, “May I see where they cut you?”
(I had totally missed that there were two pages to this, and kept looking at the bottom of page one thinking, "Dude! Why haven't they responded?" Please carry on. :) )
The two guards look up at the taraskind and half-orc, each one as much as a head taller than them, and shared a sidelong glance. "Uh, we can't have a corpse in the middle of the bazaar. Get this cleaned up and don't let it happen again." To the disappointment of the crowd, they walk away.
The vendor in the seafood stand behind you echoes the sentiment. "A body in front of my shop is bad for business," he grumbles. "Clear out or I'll dice you up and peg a price tag on your ceviche!"
Atloonde shrugged and bent down to grab the body. That was a lucky break. Could have gone very different. With the body slung over his shoulder, the young taraskind walked over to the large man and extended his hand.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Tramoric ignored the comment of the fishmonger, and shook Atloonde's hand. "It was really more of trying to help, but you are welcome. This may help a bit more." He closes his eyes and whispers while tracing a bisected triangle in the air with one hand, while the other holds on to a necklace of not a few deific symbols, and Atloonde regains 3 hit points. the hand tracing the air quickly moves down and taps the glass of a black lantern hanging at his side, covered with a moldering rag.
"I am Tramoric de Valla. (vai-ya) You seem capable, young Atloonde, but allow me to help you with that unfortunate creatures corpse. How did this creature know you?" After gripping the body under the shoulders so that Atloonde could take the feet, Tramoric stood waiting for Atloonde to lead the way. "And I suppose you have an idea of where we are taking this, yes?"
The crowd parted for the two newfound associates and their cargo, which was unaccountably light for its size. The path leads toward the harbor, where a funeral was already in session...
"Great Pereg!" filled the gloomy dusk, chorally chanted by the small crowd as prompted by the orator. "May the Magistrate and his family be comforted in their time of loss. Young Master Sagar will be missed. Great Pereg!"
"Great Pereg!" responded the crowd amidst their sobbing.
"As we set out, we beg you for a proper sailwind. May the remains of our beloved son, brother, and friend be swiftly drawn into Suromta's embrace, far from the clutches of Avernos. Great Pereg!"
"Great Pereg!" shouted the crowd, emboldened.
The priestly orator took another step up the gangplank to the magnificent vessel prepared for the voyage. "As we travel, may any foes we face fall victim to our blades and bravery!"
"GREAT PEREG!"
Roll Arcana, History, or both. If you choose both, please specify which roll is which...
Atloonde gladly shifts the body so that Tramoric can grab it's legs.
"He's an old foe, one who made the days of me and mine painful. It's funny though, now that he's dead I feel nothing toward him. Let us throw him in the deep and have done with him. I'd rather not be locked up by the watch for leaving his body out."
The general practice on Canaille and its neighboring islands (and the other islands of the Hundred Horizons, so far as you recall) had been to weigh down the corpses of the departed when released into the sea, for stories abound of loved ones (or otherwise) returning as the undead after having washed ashore on Avernos downstream and succumbing to its necromantic energies. "Suromta's Embrace" at the bottom of the ocean has typically ensured that this event wouldn't happen. Atloonde remembered this to be especially true of zenjir, who are comparatively more buoyant than other races. The thought of an undead Reyf returning for vengeance sent a chill through his bones...
The orator's mention of "Young Master Sagar" reminded Tramoric of the Sagars, a rather large family among the bourgeoisie of Canaille. Apparently one of them had become magistrate of this settlement, Marjatta, and had lost a family member (likely a son). The orator's dirge was rather standard, especially the last line. Given the hotly contested and often pirate-infested waters around Canaille, prayers involving victory in combat were commonplace.
The burial-at-sea was rather standard as well, even if the magistrate's personal sloop was rather splendidly decorated. The family likely took comfort in the fact that the corpse would be tossed overboard in style...
Most importantly, however, was the recollection that funereal voyages are often targeted by marauders (everyone arrayed in their finest, and a ship laden with valuable offerings, etc.). Marauders may ignore Tramoric and Atloonde as they set out to dispose of Reyf's body, but being able to piggyback on this voyage may be advantageous...
They had reached the edge of the wharf and had laid the corpse on the ground so that rocks could be tied to it's legs. As he looked down at the figure in the dying light of the day, the slack face seemed to smile up at him.
Reyf really didn't deserve a proper burial, Atloonde thought to himself. The scum deserved to rot in the sun. As he thought the words, his master's face seemed to appear in his mind, disapproving. Atloonde sighed. Reyf was a monster, but no more than Atloonde could have been in the violet man's shoes. The taraskind lad had only been a prisoner for four years. Reyf had thirty under his belt. It made sense that a prisoner might start to become like his sadistic captain after all that time.
He shook himself. While he had been thinking, Tramoric had done most of the work in tying the body with rocks.
"Friend, I've changed my mind. This fiend never had a friend in his life. In his shoes, I may have become the same monster. In his last moments land side, someone needs to show him a little compassion. I cannot ask you to follow this far for a stranger, but I must take him out where his soul can find some rest."
"Why don't you come with me? It won't take too long. I'm sure you've got a tale or two to tell." He smiled broadly. "Drinks are on me."
Tramoric pulls the hands of the corpse together, and as mortis sets in, clasps one hand over the other wrist, and ties them together, laying the hands on the chest. He rips a piece of cloth off his own robe, and with some rope fashions a simple net to be tied around the body, with lengths of rope to have stones attached. As Altoonde stood their observing, Tramoric tried to be his absolute most professional. He had prepared bodies before and he knew all the proper rituals. Of the side of the face that was still identifiable, he placed a copper piece over the eye. Copper was a poor man's coin, and though Tramoric knew nothing about the deceased, Altoonde didn't seem to object. It was a final bit of respect.
"The dead bring memories of joy and sorrow,
while above the waves we weave amongst the kays,
In living they taught, now we must choose to follow,
Now go on and live out your own days."
He bowed his head and put a thumb to his forehead and gave a silent prayer, then rapped at the lantern with his hanging hand, and turned to Altoonde. "Just a bit of poetry I picked up from the acolytes on another island. Always like to use some of it at funerals." He stretches and bends down to pick up the body again. "If you'd like to catch the boat, we best hurry. And I'd fancy a drink after this day. I've got a few things I'd like inquire of you, young sir."
"Oy!" comes a shot from the top of the gangplank of the ship (dubbed the Brio, as indicated on the ship's stern) A deckhand points at you while elbowing a mate. "What could this be? Couple o' pilgrims sacrificing a caori, or some janitors clearing out the back rooms of the Smashed Skull?" The two sailors share a boisterous laugh before adding, "What can we do for you, friends?"
Tramoric nervously grins at the blokes on the boat, and without loosing grip on the corpse hanging between he and Altoonde, gives a slight bow. "We simply wish to tag along on your ship on the way out to the burial site. My friend here," gesturing to Altoonde, "knew this creature in life, and wishes to give him a more honorable burial. Might we come with you... er, friends?"
The two mariners exchange looks as their swarthy, weather-beaten grins widen. "You mean to board the Brio," says one," flagship of Marjatta, owned by the magistrate himself, during the sea burial of his own son no less, to see your friend off as well?"
The other scratches his head. "A high honor indeed, but the currently boarded party is a mite large, and may object to you encroaching on their ceremony, to say nothing of supplies for the farewell revelries." He removes his cloth cap and rubs the bald pate underneath. "After all, this is the procession of Young Master Sagar, and their generosity may, er, stretch at sharing the occasion with, um, the deceased." He holds up a hand and rubs his fingers together indicatively. "It may take a little... compensation... to mollify their concerns, if you catch my drift."
(Along with whatever else you include in your response, a Persuasion would not go amiss...)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Nervously, Tramoric thought about the now 8 copper remaining in his coin pouch. No way that he has enough to convince these men.
"Friends," he said trying to appear a confident and competent cleric, "it is my duty to see to the proper burial of those passing on to the next life. If it is possible, we could inconspicuously act after the burial of the magistrates son. We can be master's of our tongues and feet long enough to stay silent for the trip out and back. We wouldn't irritate a soul." Tramoric looked hopefully, [as he puts his fate in the hands of the online dice roller]. Persuasion:4
The sailor replaces his skullcap and regards his companion, "Well, Josam, what say ye?"
The other scratches his grizzled chin thoughtfully, his grizzled voice barely audible. "Hard to say, Lask. Cap'n's not keen on stowaways..." He gestures to Reyf's corpse, his voice rising. "This, er, friend of yours. He goin' in the water with any, um, prized possessions? Could we offer one of those to the captain as indemnity?"
Atloonde and Tramoric look at each other, realizing they have know idea what Reyf's corpse may have in its [nasty little] pockets[es]. Atloonde shrugs and nods to his associate, who bow his head respectfully and steps back from the body. Reyf's vest, tunic, and breeches don't seem to carry much, but a delicate search reveals:
- A flask of something dark and purple-green, with a faint odor of fruit. - A fresh, white candle. - A small pouch containing five silver pieces and a white pearl.
The sailors Josam and Lask look on intently as Atloonde makes his discoveries. [Anything he wishes to ensure they don't notice will require a sleight of hand check...]
Their eyes widening at the offer, Josam and Lask hustle down the gangplank to help load the corpsecargo. "Oh, much obliged, good sirs!" Josam purrs. As they rush forward to collect their briberecompense, Lask examines the flask with an eager smile. He looks inside the pouch, shaking it gently and working hard to hide his astonishment, then hands it to Josam for safe keeping. The candle, almost an afterthought, ends up on the dock, rolling away until it slips into the water.
Something tugs at Tramoric's attention, and he realizes that his lantern-- more precisely, the green flame inside-- seems to flicker and spark with a life all its own. The behavior only seems to intensify as the white candle begins to float away.
The two deckhands happily hoist Reyf's body onto the Brio. "You'll stay with the crew," explains Josam. "We're working skeleton this voyage, so there's room. Remember, just wait your turn, and your friend here will slip into Suromta's Embrace." After a moment, he adds, "This were a zenjir, your friend? He's awful light..."
Feeling the heat, and seeing the faint green light, Tramoric traces the path of the candle and kneels down at the docks edge, reaching for the candle, hand quivering over the water. Quickly he snatches it and as he stands, stows the candle in a pouch on his backpack. “How strange,” he thinks as he turns to the lantern. He peels back the rag covering it and stares at the flame for a good twenty seconds, and then notices that Josam and Lask have already boarded with Altoonde.
He follows them quickly.
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Tramoric stepped through the people who gathered quickly around the scene, and interrupted the guards. “I’ve been here most of the afternoon, and I can vouch for his words,” he said calmly to the guards. “Just as this young Taraskind was observing people about the market, this man,” pointing to the corpse “approached with four armed thugs who ran away just before you arrived. One of them has a blade still wet with blood.”
“I’d like to observe the wounds, sirs. May I?” Without missing a beat, he turns to the Taraskind and extends his hand, “May I see where they cut you?”
(I had totally missed that there were two pages to this, and kept looking at the bottom of page one thinking, "Dude! Why haven't they responded?" Please carry on. :) )
The two guards look up at the taraskind and half-orc, each one as much as a head taller than them, and shared a sidelong glance. "Uh, we can't have a corpse in the middle of the bazaar. Get this cleaned up and don't let it happen again." To the disappointment of the crowd, they walk away.
The vendor in the seafood stand behind you echoes the sentiment. "A body in front of my shop is bad for business," he grumbles. "Clear out or I'll dice you up and peg a price tag on your ceviche!"
Atloonde shrugged and bent down to grab the body. That was a lucky break. Could have gone very different. With the body slung over his shoulder, the young taraskind walked over to the large man and extended his hand.
"Thank you for your help. My name is Atloonde."
Tramoric ignored the comment of the fishmonger, and shook Atloonde's hand. "It was really more of trying to help, but you are welcome. This may help a bit more." He closes his eyes and whispers while tracing a bisected triangle in the air with one hand, while the other holds on to a necklace of not a few deific symbols, and Atloonde regains 3 hit points. the hand tracing the air quickly moves down and taps the glass of a black lantern hanging at his side, covered with a moldering rag.
"I am Tramoric de Valla. (vai-ya) You seem capable, young Atloonde, but allow me to help you with that unfortunate creatures corpse. How did this creature know you?" After gripping the body under the shoulders so that Atloonde could take the feet, Tramoric stood waiting for Atloonde to lead the way. "And I suppose you have an idea of where we are taking this, yes?"
The crowd parted for the two newfound associates and their cargo, which was unaccountably light for its size. The path leads toward the harbor, where a funeral was already in session...
"Great Pereg!" filled the gloomy dusk, chorally chanted by the small crowd as prompted by the orator. "May the Magistrate and his family be comforted in their time of loss. Young Master Sagar will be missed. Great Pereg!"
"Great Pereg!" responded the crowd amidst their sobbing.
"As we set out, we beg you for a proper sailwind. May the remains of our beloved son, brother, and friend be swiftly drawn into Suromta's embrace, far from the clutches of Avernos. Great Pereg!"
"Great Pereg!" shouted the crowd, emboldened.
The priestly orator took another step up the gangplank to the magnificent vessel prepared for the voyage. "As we travel, may any foes we face fall victim to our blades and bravery!"
"GREAT PEREG!"
Roll Arcana, History, or both. If you choose both, please specify which roll is which...
15 arcana.
Atloonde gladly shifts the body so that Tramoric can grab it's legs.
"He's an old foe, one who made the days of me and mine painful. It's funny though, now that he's dead I feel nothing toward him. Let us throw him in the deep and have done with him. I'd rather not be locked up by the watch for leaving his body out."
The general practice on Canaille and its neighboring islands (and the other islands of the Hundred Horizons, so far as you recall) had been to weigh down the corpses of the departed when released into the sea, for stories abound of loved ones (or otherwise) returning as the undead after having washed ashore on Avernos downstream and succumbing to its necromantic energies. "Suromta's Embrace" at the bottom of the ocean has typically ensured that this event wouldn't happen. Atloonde remembered this to be especially true of zenjir, who are comparatively more buoyant than other races. The thought of an undead Reyf returning for vengeance sent a chill through his bones...
"Agreed, young sir."
As they heard this chanting, Tramoric focused in on the orator. History 11
The orator's mention of "Young Master Sagar" reminded Tramoric of the Sagars, a rather large family among the bourgeoisie of Canaille. Apparently one of them had become magistrate of this settlement, Marjatta, and had lost a family member (likely a son). The orator's dirge was rather standard, especially the last line. Given the hotly contested and often pirate-infested waters around Canaille, prayers involving victory in combat were commonplace.
The burial-at-sea was rather standard as well, even if the magistrate's personal sloop was rather splendidly decorated. The family likely took comfort in the fact that the corpse would be tossed overboard in style...
Most importantly, however, was the recollection that funereal voyages are often targeted by marauders (everyone arrayed in their finest, and a ship laden with valuable offerings, etc.). Marauders may ignore Tramoric and Atloonde as they set out to dispose of Reyf's body, but being able to piggyback on this voyage may be advantageous...
They had reached the edge of the wharf and had laid the corpse on the ground so that rocks could be tied to it's legs. As he looked down at the figure in the dying light of the day, the slack face seemed to smile up at him.
Reyf really didn't deserve a proper burial, Atloonde thought to himself. The scum deserved to rot in the sun. As he thought the words, his master's face seemed to appear in his mind, disapproving. Atloonde sighed. Reyf was a monster, but no more than Atloonde could have been in the violet man's shoes. The taraskind lad had only been a prisoner for four years. Reyf had thirty under his belt. It made sense that a prisoner might start to become like his sadistic captain after all that time.
He shook himself. While he had been thinking, Tramoric had done most of the work in tying the body with rocks.
"Friend, I've changed my mind. This fiend never had a friend in his life. In his shoes, I may have become the same monster. In his last moments land side, someone needs to show him a little compassion. I cannot ask you to follow this far for a stranger, but I must take him out where his soul can find some rest."
"Why don't you come with me? It won't take too long. I'm sure you've got a tale or two to tell." He smiled broadly. "Drinks are on me."
Tramoric pulls the hands of the corpse together, and as mortis sets in, clasps one hand over the other wrist, and ties them together, laying the hands on the chest. He rips a piece of cloth off his own robe, and with some rope fashions a simple net to be tied around the body, with lengths of rope to have stones attached. As Altoonde stood their observing, Tramoric tried to be his absolute most professional. He had prepared bodies before and he knew all the proper rituals. Of the side of the face that was still identifiable, he placed a copper piece over the eye. Copper was a poor man's coin, and though Tramoric knew nothing about the deceased, Altoonde didn't seem to object. It was a final bit of respect.
"The dead bring memories of joy and sorrow,
while above the waves we weave amongst the kays,
In living they taught, now we must choose to follow,
Now go on and live out your own days."
He bowed his head and put a thumb to his forehead and gave a silent prayer, then rapped at the lantern with his hanging hand, and turned to Altoonde. "Just a bit of poetry I picked up from the acolytes on another island. Always like to use some of it at funerals." He stretches and bends down to pick up the body again. "If you'd like to catch the boat, we best hurry. And I'd fancy a drink after this day. I've got a few things I'd like inquire of you, young sir."
With that, the intrepid pair head off to join the funeral ship.
"Oy!" comes a shot from the top of the gangplank of the ship (dubbed the Brio, as indicated on the ship's stern) A deckhand points at you while elbowing a mate. "What could this be? Couple o' pilgrims sacrificing a caori, or some janitors clearing out the back rooms of the Smashed Skull?" The two sailors share a boisterous laugh before adding, "What can we do for you, friends?"
Tramoric nervously grins at the blokes on the boat, and without loosing grip on the corpse hanging between he and Altoonde, gives a slight bow. "We simply wish to tag along on your ship on the way out to the burial site. My friend here," gesturing to Altoonde, "knew this creature in life, and wishes to give him a more honorable burial. Might we come with you... er, friends?"
The two mariners exchange looks as their swarthy, weather-beaten grins widen. "You mean to board the Brio," says one," flagship of Marjatta, owned by the magistrate himself, during the sea burial of his own son no less, to see your friend off as well?"
The other scratches his head. "A high honor indeed, but the currently boarded party is a mite large, and may object to you encroaching on their ceremony, to say nothing of supplies for the farewell revelries." He removes his cloth cap and rubs the bald pate underneath. "After all, this is the procession of Young Master Sagar, and their generosity may, er, stretch at sharing the occasion with, um, the deceased." He holds up a hand and rubs his fingers together indicatively. "It may take a little... compensation... to mollify their concerns, if you catch my drift."
(Along with whatever else you include in your response, a Persuasion would not go amiss...)
Nervously, Tramoric thought about the now 8 copper remaining in his coin pouch. No way that he has enough to convince these men.
"Friends," he said trying to appear a confident and competent cleric, "it is my duty to see to the proper burial of those passing on to the next life. If it is possible, we could inconspicuously act after the burial of the magistrates son. We can be master's of our tongues and feet long enough to stay silent for the trip out and back. We wouldn't irritate a soul." Tramoric looked hopefully, [as he puts his fate in the hands of the online dice roller]. Persuasion: 4
The sailor replaces his skullcap and regards his companion, "Well, Josam, what say ye?"
The other scratches his grizzled chin thoughtfully, his grizzled voice barely audible. "Hard to say, Lask. Cap'n's not keen on stowaways..." He gestures to Reyf's corpse, his voice rising. "This, er, friend of yours. He goin' in the water with any, um, prized possessions? Could we offer one of those to the captain as indemnity?"
Atloonde and Tramoric look at each other, realizing they have know idea what Reyf's corpse may have in its [nasty little] pockets[es]. Atloonde shrugs and nods to his associate, who bow his head respectfully and steps back from the body. Reyf's vest, tunic, and breeches don't seem to carry much, but a delicate search reveals:
- A flask of something dark and purple-green, with a faint odor of fruit.
- A fresh, white candle.
- A small pouch containing five silver pieces and a white pearl.
The sailors Josam and Lask look on intently as Atloonde makes his discoveries. [Anything he wishes to ensure they don't notice will require a sleight of hand check...]
"All that he has is yours. I hope that it may suffice to cover his trip to the depths."
Their eyes widening at the offer, Josam and Lask hustle down the gangplank to help load the
corpsecargo. "Oh, much obliged, good sirs!" Josam purrs. As they rush forward to collect theirbriberecompense, Lask examines the flask with an eager smile. He looks inside the pouch, shaking it gently and working hard to hide his astonishment, then hands it to Josam for safe keeping. The candle, almost an afterthought, ends up on the dock, rolling away until it slips into the water.Something tugs at Tramoric's attention, and he realizes that his lantern-- more precisely, the green flame inside-- seems to flicker and spark with a life all its own. The behavior only seems to intensify as the white candle begins to float away.
The two deckhands happily hoist Reyf's body onto the Brio. "You'll stay with the crew," explains Josam. "We're working skeleton this voyage, so there's room. Remember, just wait your turn, and your friend here will slip into Suromta's Embrace." After a moment, he adds, "This were a zenjir, your friend? He's awful light..."
Feeling the heat, and seeing the faint green light, Tramoric traces the path of the candle and kneels down at the docks edge, reaching for the candle, hand quivering over the water. Quickly he snatches it and as he stands, stows the candle in a pouch on his backpack. “How strange,” he thinks as he turns to the lantern. He peels back the rag covering it and stares at the flame for a good twenty seconds, and then notices that Josam and Lask have already boarded with Altoonde.
He follows them quickly.