Solo [The Mourner's Rest] Burial at Sea

[Grim Ravenwood]

25th of Summer 517AV

"Correct." Grim confirmed in his most business-like tone as he scanned the parchment, searching for a thin line where he was to sign. With what had slowly, but surely, became a well practiced move of his, the young Eiyon left his name where the merchant had instructed. Never had he before needed to write so much, he admitted to himself. Mayhaps his handwriting would even improve from the crow's feet that were his letters. Content with another deal well done, the merchant extended his hand towards several sizeable crates, located atop of a pile of neatly stacked lumber.

Namely, embalming fluid was something The Mourenr's Rest would never stop needing. Death was the only certain business, Goora would use to say from time to time. That being so, they did not have a way of producing their own. Or, maybe they did, and Grim was still not immersed enough to know. Still, their shipments usually came from a dry, old man the Eiyon had came to know as Gregor. He owned a vessel, and would bring supplies to Goora about every now and then. The first time Grim laid his eyes at the merchant, his gnosis mark was the only thing that told him that Gregor was not one of the Nuit. His mannerism was odd, to say the least, and Grim liked to keep their interactions as short as possible.

That being said, like most other men, his wry lips would crack in a pleased smile the moment he would be handed a pouch of golden miza, courtesy of the Rest.

Curtly nodding in the merchant's direction, the Eiyon turned on his heel, navigating the busy dock, towards the shipment, one he was to carry by hand to his workplace. It was his turn, after all. Or so he had been told. He knew better than to complain. After all, the one known as The Gouger would probably do more than cut off his pay if he dared to disobey. Reputation always said a lot about people. And it was exactly for that reputation, that her crates remained unguarded. None was foolish enough to try and take them.

The thought brought a faint smile on Grim's lips as he sized the crate up. Rough wood, sturdy, and well crafted. No doubt as heavy as it looked. And seeing their number, he would need to make three trips from the docks to the Rest. If only he had his mother's work enthusiasm.

His hands trailed down the crate's sides, searching for a spot where they wouldn't slip. Bending his knees, the Eiyon lifted the wooden container, feeling weight shift inside of them. As far as he was informed, the embalming liquid was stored inside metal canisters. Quite lovely. He would grunt as his muscles bulged, now forced to bend his back slightly backwards, balancing his center of gravity. As he found a position that was "comfortable", the Eiyon turned towards the direction of the Rest, happy that people were courteous enough to move out of the way for him, and other people who did heavy lifting around the docks. Riverfall one, Sunberth zero.

[Grim Ravenwood]

"Last one..." The Eiyon said inwardly as the square roof of the Rest appeared above the edge of the container. His back was already sore, and the thought of having to bend even more to work around some of the flowers lingered unpleasantly in the back of his mind. Still, he steeled his grip, and bounced the box ever so slightly in his arms, adding a noticeable spring to his step. At least the heavy part of today's chores was nearing its end, just a few more steps.

"Can you move a bit to the side?" Grim asked his feathery companion, one who had been, until recently, taken residence on top of whatever he was carrying. The crow seemed content with its place, and moved only after being nudged by the young Eioyn's head. Sometimes, Grim wondered if Dusk even understood him. There was intelligence in his tiny, black eyes, certainly. Then again, the avian might just be drawing joy from being a pest.

With his thoughts drawing attention from his sore fingers, the distance between himself and the Mourner's Rest was quickly closed, and once again, Grim had found himself behind the grassy curtain of his beloved workplace. He hauled the box over into one of the side rooms, where the ones he had brought before still laid. It landed on the stone floor with a loud, echoing thud, causing Dusk to lift himself in the air, avoiding the, surely, unpleasant vibrations.

Grim swiped the few grains of sweat of his forehead as he sat down on one of the boxes, his back and arms instantly thankful. What he noticed first, was that Goora was out. Odd how spacious the complex seemed without her. Maybe not spacious, empty was a better word, he thought. If he recalled, she was to go and negotiate payment for the services she provided, and to settle some other details with a recently deceased Akalak's family. The corpse in question, was still laying on one of the stone tables, and was to be "decorated" before the funeral itself. Which was his job.

Grim knew that the funeral was to be held at sunset, and that he was to play a very minor role in the whole ordeal, one he was yet to be introduced with. That meant that he had quite some time to finish his work, though, the young Eiyon knew better than to lounge around. After all, The Gouger could be back any moment now. A shiver went down his spine at the thought of how the situation would escalate further. He feared no living or dead, but Goora? That was another story entirely.

[Grim Ravenwood]

For whatever reason, his employer was quite confident in his taste in aesthetics, confining with him the job of laying flowers around the deceased. Grim on the other hand? Not so much. Any that would lay eyes on the Eiyon could instantly tell at least one thing. He liked black. And most people did not wear, unlike him, only black. From that, one could draw that Grim, in fact, had little to no taste in clothes and fashion.

He was presented with a daunting task indeed. Suddenly, hauling around boxes all day did not seem so bad. Still, complaining and pondering could get him only so far. Raising up from his seat, Grim made his way towards the dead Akalak, eyes trailing towards his toe tag. He recalled making it, and was quite surprised that he could hardly make out his own handwriting.

"S-set-sethal?" Worded Grim as he squinted his slaten eyes at the one word laid on the tag. With that crucial piece of information obtained, he made his way to the floristry.

It was one of the larger rooms, with potted plants lining shelves and tables alike. They required constant irrigation, one provided with a canteen that usually stood in one of the corners. They were placed in a clockwise order, and were watered as such. It was a technique that would ensure that none got too much, or to little water. Grim liked being there, since it always smelled nice. The grey that dominated the entire complex seemed a lot less prominent there, and was, at least in his opinion, a welcome change. Yet, at such, they stood out like sore thumb. A little hamlet of color in the vast greyness.

Dusk was, of course, not permitted entry there, since he would, for whatever reason, try to attack the delicate flowers, or just ruffle them up. He was, now that the Eiyon thought about it, quite difficult to hold around the Rest. He needed to be fed before coming there, less he seek the corpses for food. He was a crow after all.

Picking up the cold metal in his hand, Grim dipped one finger inside the cool water. He supposed that it didn't matter much, since the flowers, since the moment they arrive, until they are needed, last only a few days. But Goora did well to remind him that the water should be somewhere around the room temperature. The younger of the two Eiyon did not quite understand why, but bowed before the wisdom of the elders.

Bending over the potted plants, he inhaled a deep and slow breath. With a pleased smile, he angled the canteen carefully, allowing only a few drops of life-liquid per flower. Riverfall was, now that he thought about it, quite obsessed with flowers. Not that he minded though. It only meant that he was to handle them with more care. Once done with his the particular section, the raven-haired man headed towards several rows of plants, ones neatly marked with "Sethal".

[Grim Ravenwood]

As he carried several pots back to the Akalak's table, Grim did best to recall what ended the youth's life. One would most definitely say that the boy was still sleeping, were it not for the gash on his throat. A gruesome way to die, Gim thought as his hand moved to touch the deceased's shoulder. In the vision presented to him, he saw the dead boy, and another larger, green skinned Akalak, spar with wooden weapons. They traded blows and laughs in equal amounts. Until the older of the two went for a spear trust, one the now dead youth tried to deflect with his shield. Their entire society was like that, Grim thought, without measure in combat. The thrust was strong, and caught the iron-reinforced side of the shield. The tip broke off, but the handle continued onward, sharp wood piercing the younger Akalak's laynx. Then, there were gurgles, tears, and panic.

Grim sighed as he removed his hand, now looking down on the boy with a certain degree of pity.

Still, he was going to replace him on the table if he didn't complete his work by sunset. Thusly, in the next several moments, the number of flowers grew more and more on the table, until the section tagged with "Sethal" was barren, the grey reclaiming its lost territory. Now, Grim's tools consisted of a pair of scissors, finely made for their work. He was, also, supposed to use gloves, ones that lay next to the cutters. However, the young Eiyon found that they made his delicate job by far more difficult. After all, finesse was not one of his redeeming traits.

Thankfully, he recalled making small necklaces from dandelions while he was still a child. He would pluck them from around the graveyard, twisting their hollow stalks, and sticking the smaller into the larger ones. Grim would then skip off to his mother, and complete the link behind her neck. Now that he thought about it, wearing them without the flowers dissolving was rather cumbersome, and she did always wear them till bedtime.

And so, with what little memories he could scrape, Grim began linking the flowers. He could not identify most of them, and thankfully, he did not need to. Those with larger and wider petals would go to cover the wound he had stitched beforehand. He would carefully lay them around his neck, interweaving them as their number grew, because after all, the last thing he wanted was them being blown off by the ocean wind. Likewise, he had a substantial number of plants to work with. Maybe not enough to cover the whole body, but enough to craft a flowery armor.

Before going to work on the rest of the body, Grim picked two orchids, and slightly crushed their soft stalks underneath their heads, increasing their flexibility and allowing them to coil around one another. The Akalak had silky, flowing black hair. As the Eiyon brought a few strands over his tall forehead, he slid the two flowers, allowing the weight of his dark mane to hold them in place. Content with the tiara he made, Grim continued unpotting the rest of the flowers.

[Grim Ravenwood]

One bell later, Grim watched his work with hands folded over his slightly puffed chest. The carrycot had been lined with flowers that were arranged in a square pattern, following the lines of its edges. On the other hand, a flowery carpet covered most of the deceased's body, apart from the shins and arms under the elbows, ones that were clasped and folded on his belly. Likewise, his hands held a flower that Grim deemed was most beautiful out of the whole bunch. It was strangely, inky black, as if dyed. It was somewhat symbolic, in a way. He would represent the flower he held in his hands, a color most associated with death. On the other hand, all the other flowers would represent all of the people and loved ones gathered to witness his passing, leaving their mark in the form of a small token.

Soon, the family will be there to collect the body, and carry it on to the funeral. That left Grim with a few bells to burn on cleaning the place up. He could spy dirt sprayed over the stone floor, as well as a few rogue petals here and there, ones that fell in the moment when he was not careful enough. Thus, the young Eiyon headed out to grab a broom and began working on the floor, swiping most of the mess in a small pile.

~~-(0o0)-~~

The first that came behind the curtain was Goora, who, Grim guessed, went ahead of the group to check if all was right. With the place tidied, chores crossed of the list, and body readied, the younger of the two Eiyon could not but feel somewhat proud of himself. He never expected any sort of praise from the Myrian. After all, he was doing the job he was paid for, but he did it, at least in his own opinion, rather well. Thus, he felt slightly disappointed after receiving only a curt nod.

Then, came in the family and friends. Some of them held more flowers, adding them to the ones Grim placed. Much as he expected, no tears were shed. For all their crudeness and unnecessary complexity, the Akalak were a hardy people. The atmosphere was, however, rather grim, Grim thought. Stoned faces, and eyes cast on the floor, a trait all shared. The Eiyon could understand that. For after all, it was a child that died. None of the ones present could say that he lived a fulfilled life, or raised kids that would honor his memory. He did not even die a death fit for a warrior. The last part might have hurt them the most.

Goora approached, and handed Grim a lit torch, telling him to carry on forwards. Nobody had any more reason to linger around.

Doing his best to look as ceremonial as possible, the raven-haired man exited first, followed by the carrycot on which the body lay, and then by the family members, who would then circle around the body as they moved trough the streets. If anyone was busy chatting, they would stop, either bowing their head or sending a courteous nod in the deadman's entourage. Grim was a bit touched by the sheer respect the residents of Riverfall had for the dead. At least some things in the city were set right, he thought.

And so the silent litany moved, its slow enough for people who wanted to lay their own token on the Akalak's bed in the form of a flower, and fast enough not to clot the street. They arrived at the docks a third of a bell later. The area was clear of the usual things one would expect to find on the docks, such as crates, supplies and drunkards, leaving the path leading to a readied raft vacant. The raft itself was, in all actuality, a lot more than a raft. Though one would most probably associate the term with a few crude logs, bound together by thick vines or ropes, they would very well do wrong to the work of art that floated several meters from the group.

As the carrycot was lowered down on a small pyre, the Eiyon had a few extra moments to observe the crowd. Unlike the Akalak men that attended, a single Konti woman, blond haired and fair, was very much in tears. She did her best to hide her boiling emotions behind a blue handkerchief. To most, death was a tragedy. And while Grim could understand their feelings, most did not see death past dying. And exactly failing to see death as part of the cycle was what caused them grief.

Nonetheless, one of the blue skinned giants held a long speech, one that stretched well over the duration of the next bell. Grim could not understand a single word of it, yet, the somber mood was very notable. However, one of the workmen that were standing next to the raft did well to tell the Eiyon what he was to do.

The speech itself ended just as the sun was half behind the distant horizon. Grim would approach the raft, torch in hand, ready to set the number of branches, dampened as to not burn instantly, ablaze. Yet, he was stopped as a green Akalak man, one he recognized was the spear wielder from his vision, place a hand on his shoulder. He was winded slightly, and held a richly decorated bow on his shoulder.

"Please..." He worded as he took the bow's grip in his slightly shaky hands, readying the only arrow that laid in his quiver. The arrowhead was wrapped in black, tar-soaked bandages, and Grim understood what the man wanted.

The workers gave the raft a slight push, allowing it to glide on its own away from the city. The whole group would sit idly in silence, eyes on the ever shrinking vessel. And just when it was far enough, the green-skin nocked his arrow, igniting its tip on the flame that the Eiyon still held in his hand. With a grunt of effort, he drew the bow, exhaling as he let it lose. The arrow flew like a dedicated firefly over the darkening sky, finding its mark on the side of the raft. The fire started small, but slowly bloomed as it enveloped the body on the pyre. Scorched petals, lighter than the salty sea air, floated above the small inferno, only a distant flicker to those watching. A thud could be hear as the man that held the speech placed a hand on the Akalak that still held the bow in the position he fired it.

Pulling his hood over his shaggy mane, Grim allowed himself to discreetly fade to the side, finding it easy with everyone so distracted. He still had a few things that needed to be taken care of, and thus, he left the group, who's eyes stood glued on the raft, until the fire completely blended with the orange sunset.