In one of the few ventures taking her outside of The Sanctuary, Ialari made the two-mile journey south to Riverfall. She could have borrowed a horse to make the trip quicker but she chose instead to walk. Bundled up in heavier cloths and a thick fur cloak, she walked the road to the city with a single-mindedness having developed over the course of many days, perhaps even longer. With winter well underway, the cold kept the road rather quiet which left Ialari content with her thoughts. Those thoughts were focused on what she would say once she reached her destination within the city. She didn’t expect any real response to her words but there were things that needed said; things that she needed to get off her chest.
When she arrived in Riverfall and entered the city, Ialari followed the directions she’d gotten back in The Sanctuary. It wasn’t all that hard to find the gray cottage surrounded by now snow covered grass garden. The stacked stone, windowless walls were just as were described. The set of grass doors that welcomed her were closed. She had left late in the day which was now, in the middle of winter, quickly turning to night. There was no sign that anyone was around but it was said that the facility was usually open to all. It had no need to be closed to the public considering its purpose. The Mourner’s Rest, it was called; a place for funerals and preparation of the dead. It was also the symbolic house of one of Ialari’s patron deities, Dira, Goddess of Death.
As she approached the doors, she felt what very few others felt when approaching such a place. For Ialari, the divine bond she shared with Dira through the mark of the sickle on her palm provided her with a sense of comfort. That comfort was now beginning to lay down upon her like a funeral shroud as she pushed open the doors. Inside, Ialari stepped into a unique setting with a ceiling open to the sky. The entire place was pretty dark with the onset of night but it did not bother Ialari for she saw just fine. If anything she felt as though she could see even better in a place so devoted to the dead. Where the oppressive feeling of tragedy and loss would normally leave normal people feeling loss and sadness, Ialari felt peace and serenity.
The areas normally devoted to the preparation of the dead were currently empty which left the main portion of the facility bare and quiet. Stone columns supported the bit of ceiling that was present and amazingly, though the ceiling was open in a large spot to the sky, no snow dare touched the stone floor beneath it. Ialari wasn’t there for sight-seeing however and cared nothing if the place was filled or empty. She could feel death in the air and by extension, the presence of the one she was there to speak with. In past conversations with the goddess, they were all one-sided with Ialari speaking and hoping that Dira was listening. However, in the past, Ialari didn’t usually have the opportunity to be so close to death as there weren’t exactly a great supply of cemeteries in the wilds of Syliras.
When she arrived in Riverfall and entered the city, Ialari followed the directions she’d gotten back in The Sanctuary. It wasn’t all that hard to find the gray cottage surrounded by now snow covered grass garden. The stacked stone, windowless walls were just as were described. The set of grass doors that welcomed her were closed. She had left late in the day which was now, in the middle of winter, quickly turning to night. There was no sign that anyone was around but it was said that the facility was usually open to all. It had no need to be closed to the public considering its purpose. The Mourner’s Rest, it was called; a place for funerals and preparation of the dead. It was also the symbolic house of one of Ialari’s patron deities, Dira, Goddess of Death.
As she approached the doors, she felt what very few others felt when approaching such a place. For Ialari, the divine bond she shared with Dira through the mark of the sickle on her palm provided her with a sense of comfort. That comfort was now beginning to lay down upon her like a funeral shroud as she pushed open the doors. Inside, Ialari stepped into a unique setting with a ceiling open to the sky. The entire place was pretty dark with the onset of night but it did not bother Ialari for she saw just fine. If anything she felt as though she could see even better in a place so devoted to the dead. Where the oppressive feeling of tragedy and loss would normally leave normal people feeling loss and sadness, Ialari felt peace and serenity.
The areas normally devoted to the preparation of the dead were currently empty which left the main portion of the facility bare and quiet. Stone columns supported the bit of ceiling that was present and amazingly, though the ceiling was open in a large spot to the sky, no snow dare touched the stone floor beneath it. Ialari wasn’t there for sight-seeing however and cared nothing if the place was filled or empty. She could feel death in the air and by extension, the presence of the one she was there to speak with. In past conversations with the goddess, they were all one-sided with Ialari speaking and hoping that Dira was listening. However, in the past, Ialari didn’t usually have the opportunity to be so close to death as there weren’t exactly a great supply of cemeteries in the wilds of Syliras.