To the dead we owe peace

[drtrollado 267]

 

 

“So to you Sons of Malin, who have fallen to other faiths, I admonish: GOD is in all creation, and divinity comes not from the verdure nor the beasts of this world, but are breathed into them by Him.“
(Spirit, 4:16)

 

 

As Father Randir faced the grave he had just recently dugged, he brought a hand up to his face and scratched his chin before he took off his mask and, slowly, caressed his temple with a loud sigh and mumbled “The day sure did not go as expected”.

 

The priest then looked to his right as his horse diligently stood there “‘Saul’s Legacy’, quite the befitting name” he thought to himself as a smile creeped up on his lips, unfortunately the smile did not last long as his eyes continued their way into what his horse was carrying, the sole reason of why he was there, alone, in the middle of nowhere.

 

On his horse lied, wrapped in a bloodied cloth, the headless body of an elf he had not the pleasure, or displeasure, of meeting in life, the Silver Lubba, or the Merchant-King, the nickname did not matter anymore, well at least the priest hoped that it was the intended target, he couldnt be certain after all the chaos. In fact, the only thing that he knew that mattered was that deceased deserved a righteous funeral that one only the Good Lord could offer.

 

So the Father inhaled deeply before he gently took the supposed Lubba’s body off his horse and put it into the grave, he’d then get the shovel he used to dig that same hole to fill it back with dirt. As he did so, his mind wandered to all that had happened that day.

 

How quickly they stormed the gates of Lurin, how, in a blur, they were already inside the palace, face to face with the tyrant, how he fell and how the men boasted with his head all the way back to Salvos. That, he recollected, was when his duty called, he’d have happily cherished the victory with the men, given the opportunity, but it never came, and he was happy it didn’t, for he loved the silent job of a priest. 

 

So as the men raised the head of the tyrant in a spike in front of the saloon, he whistled for his horse and made his way back to the city. Once again he entered Lurin, though the last time he had done that his heart was racing so much he could barely think, now he could only feel peace as his horse ambled into the city. All was quiet, the tyrant had told his citizens to evacuate the capital and its surroundings, and they did it, maybe too eagerly, as there was none to defend the Lubba.

 

Slowly he made his way up to the palace, with his mind focused on nothing but the carcass of the deceased elf, unforunately to him, too many were left in the same state, so he had to choose the one he thought looked more similar, and, hopefully, it was enough, after he wrapped the body in the finest silk he could find before throwing it over his horse and taking his leave.

 

The priest knew the dangers of setting up a grave near the abandoned city, so he made his way back to the town of Salvos and, though he trusted his peers, he decided not to risk it, so he chose the farthest island possible to act as the supposed Silver Lubba’s resting place.

 

“The Good Lord had spoken” thought the priest “if our republican cause was to be unjust, surely God would have not favoured us, that is certain”. At that moment he realized he had finished filling the grave with dirt.

 

Father Randir then knelt beside the grave before he retrieved a vial of holy water from his satchel, he’d then dip his index and middle finger in it before he crossed the lorraine over himself.

 

“The Good Lord of the universe, creator of All and second to none, the Most Merciful, have mercy on this soul as he reunites with You once more in the afterlife. May his sins be forgiven and may his soul find peace by your side. Though he lacked in life, may he now seek your forgiveness. Amen.”.

 

The Father then got up and, before he left, stared at the grave for a moment as a certain apathy took over him. It was not his place to judge or elaborate any excuses, he did his priestly duties as he was supposed. The tyrant had fallen because of his own actions, Salvos and its republican ideals would live longer, how much longer he could not say, but at least one tyrant longer.

 

And with that he felt a fire start in his heart as he then walked towards his horse once more, he could not save everyone, but as long as he could save those dear to him, his peers in Salvos, and all of those who stood by what was right, he was happy.

 

“Freedom requires blood and democracy requires ending one tyrant at a time. May the next one meet the same fate” With that Father Randir would hop on his horse and put his wooden mask back on, he then offered the supposed Last Silver Lubba one final solemn nod before taking his leave to Salvos. After all, it was a day of celebrations. 

 

Edited October 14, 2024 by drtrollado
rp changes

[Caranthir_ 2533]

Tristan comes across the grave on one of his walks. He says a quick prayer at the freshly churned mound of dirt. He had not known that Levi Summers had departed for the prismarine city that night. He slept while the deed was done. It would not have been his way, he thinks—Narithen, though a tyrant, did he not deserve trial? He had not felt peace stumbling across the burial site. But the Lubba was dead, and he was not, and so there was only one man left to care.