I need to take a moment to recognize and express my gratitude to the admins for supporting this event but also for Benedicto thinking to put it together in the first place and for championing us through everything. We were too busy crying from how very well this was and from the touching speech.
This was healing in so many ways and after the fact, a lot of people wanted to sit with the sarcophagus because even though it's a fictional item, it still gave a feeling of something we can touch to remember him.
Thank you for everything. You are all amazing people and it's because of you that this is a worthwhile community to continue to be a part of and defend.
Edit: This log is from Iames' perspective.
(Templars): Nianvi says, "Pentarch, it is best that you come to the Vigil."
(Templars): Benedicto says, "I am on my way."
A training courtyard surrounded by arches.
Dawn rises upon a cloudless sky, the dim, reddish rays of the sun shining down upon the land. A pale blue light radiates from the form of Preceptor Merkava, his hand resting on the haft of his bardiche. A wooden post with a number of rotating pegs sits here. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Sweaty and stained with sweat and blood, an Akkari scout cuts a solemn silhouette nearby. Tired but focused, Nianvi presides over the studies within the atrium. An unspecified thing is dead. Nianvi is a tutor. View HELP LEARNING for more information about learning skills.
You see exits leading north, east, southeast, south, and west.
[HINT]: A dirt-smudged Akkari scout seems particularly alert.
[HINT]: Nianvi seems particularly alert.
Nianvi frowns as she listens to the quiet report from the Akkari scout, attention focused on the shrouded figure at their feet.
Quickly snapping to a rigid stance, the Templar Knights lining the room bring their weapons to a vertical position in front of their chests in an alert posture of respect.
Benedicto strides into the courtyard, tersely waving away the salutes of the Templar surrounding the space. His pearl-white eyes find Nianvi. "What is the trouble?" He asks, glancing towards the scout.
Quietly, a dirt-smudged Akkari scout says, "There were easily a half dozen and tracks enough of more, the girl's been taken in by a caravan that passed, she'll live."
Aloli's attention is arrested on a dirt-smudged Akkari scout as she listens.
Nianvi holds a hand up to the scout, then turns and approaches Benedicto with a scrap of cloth in her hand; the embroidered patch from a Templar's tunic, emblazoned with a radiant heart. "I am so sorry, Pentarch." The woman quietly says.
Taaroshi furrows his brow in consternation.
Aloli's eyes widen as she looks at the piece of embroidered cloth and quickly recognizes the emblem. "Whose tunic was that?" she asks you quietly.
Benedicto frowns, confused. "Sorry?" He accepts the patch of embroidery from Nianvi. "This is the Gallant sigil." He turns to look briefly towards Aloli and you before he returns his attention towards the scout.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout wipes a dirty hand across his brow and straightens his posture. "I found him down near one of the bottlenecks in the mountains, nearing the Itzatl." He reports. "I've done what I can. The clerics, they...they can sense when a thread breaks to one of us." He tries to explain in the best way he can.
Aloli takes a step closer to Benedicto and reaches for the patch of tunic, examining it, her heart sinking as she listens.
Lexen's brow furrows, his eyes locking on the scrap of fabric before darting to you, and then Aloli, his visage turning both grim and ashen.
"Him? You're talking of Alexsandor?" Benedicto takes a step towards the scout, his impatience growing.
Taaroshi winces in pain.
You have emoted: A figure wrapped in darkness glares from behind a skull-faced helmet at the tunic's fabric and its transaction, his silent discontent muted with a tense stance. His knuckles whitening around the blades pommel as his fears are confirmed. Shifting his weight impatiently amongst his left then right, repeating with tension. "No." is all he can utter in disbelief.
You abandon the veil obscuring your form, becoming visible once more.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout glances down at the shrouded figure and nods. "The clerics sent a squad out, to find the..." The man pauses again, not knowing how to explain it. "Cold spot." He tries, but not well. He's a soldier after all, eloquence isn't his strength.
Benedicto runs a hand over his face, a plethora of emotions dance across his features. "Cold spot. Right. You're attempting to tell me that Alexsandor has fallen? Correct?" He plants his large, webbed hand atop the pommel of the blade at his hip. "Why is this such a cause for concern? Surely he will just approach the mirror as we all do?" He asks.
Aloli struggles to make sense of what she's hearing as she clutches her son's tunic's fabric tightly in her grip. The world seems to fall away as her attention is all on these simple words "..cold spot?" She also asks.
Taaroshi struggles to maintain the information, his brow furrowed as his head cocks, "He's ok right? Every...everything is good?"
Clearing his throat, a dirt-smudged Akkari scout says, "We swept the surrounding hills and found tracks but no more of the enemy. Six dead accounted for, blood on his blade. There were survivors, two wounded, they are being taken to the village in the jungle for care."
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout grimaces and shakes his head, looking to Nianvi for help in what is not his realm of expertise.
Tears begin to well up in the corners of his eyes as Taaroshi blinks several times, drawing a heavy hand to his eyes, pausing for a moment not seeming to move or breathe at all.
Lexen doesn't seem to have words, his attention, however, turns to Alexein as she enters, and the raw uncertainty in his eyes isn't much of a comfort as he steps forward, hoping to block some of the view while facing Alexein.
Benedicto follows a dirt-smudged Akkari scout gaze to Nianvi, his pearl-white eyes desperately seeking for some further clarification.
Quietly, Nianvi says, "I do not believe he will be returning. Our clerics, they've trained with the Sages. They are the most...attuned of us? They can sense when one of us, our symbiotes, ceases...shining, as it is for us, our light dims, a candle gutters out within what we are."
Nianvi says, "As you might sense a corner of a room growing a little darker, so they can sense the health of our people on the plane."
Alexein looks up between everyone but stands far away, afraid to enter and locks gaze with Lexen.
Benedicto's expression turns ashen, his features slackening in shock as his hand drops limp at his side. "How...?" He swallows and takes a step back. "How is that possible?"
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout opens his mouth to speak, but another glance orders him to silence. "He saved three lives." He offers quietly. "Against many enemies. They looked like slavers, those we burned, tracks lead back towards the wastes."
Alexein can't stand upright as soon as she connects the dots. Her hands fly to her mouth to stifle any sound and she moves to your side.
Taaroshi swallows thickly, choking back a sob as his own hands fall to drape together at his torso. "Alexsandor was...is a great knight....I'm so sorry...for all the Gallants'" The tears finally come to fruition as he cries, his voice not betraying his sadness, "I'm so sorry...."
Lexen's jaw clenches at the information being relayed behind him, both anger and loss waring on his features--at least one of which he doesn't seem to have enough understanding of to handle right now. His hand moves to reach out as Alexein moves past him, but he hesitates, failing to make the physical connection and just letting his hand fall to the side.
Benedicto seems to deflate inwards upon himself and he reaches out a hand towards Aloli for support. "I still don't understand." He manages quietly. "Surely he'll just come back?"
You have emoted: Iames quickly moves to sheathe the Executioner's Greatsword as he senses Alexein. His anger and anguish melding into one, as he cuts Lexen a familiar glare and request before he wraps a shaking arm around Alexein.
Aloli stares at Taaroshi for a long moment, still processing things then takes Benedicto's hand. She's still in shock and listening as she steps to Benedicto's side and asks a dirt-smudged Akkari scout, "Where is my son now?"
Nianvi draws a long breath of empathy as she gazes at Benedicto and Aloli. It was ever hard to witness and know another's pain, and be powerless to help save to be present.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout says, "We've done what we can for him, miss. He's been bathed, and laid straight."
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout gestures to the body at his feet, carefully and respectfully shrouded and wreathed with herbs.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout says, "The Seneschal said to bring him to you, for your own rites. We return our own to the light, so their remains cannot be misused."
Oonagh clears his throat with a roiling rumble, finding himself back on the outer perimeter of the Templar gathered, awkwardly affording himself to the background.
A goggle-bearing hound blinks into existence and falls into line behind Stine.
Aloli releases Benedicto's hand and kneels by the corpse of a shroud-wrapped body, in disbelief. As soon as her eyes make out her son's visage she's crying and clutching his uniform. "No..."
With his back mostly to the assembled, Lexen looks up, catching Oonagh's eye and shaking his head slightly. A lance of pain slides through his features at Aloli's cry, and he silently mouths the name 'Alex' towards Oonagh.
Alexein steps up to put a hand on Aloli. "Mom." She whispers with a broken voice.
Nianvi gently kneels beside Aloli, her eyes red but face calm, if a little tense around the mouth. Carefully, she places a hand on the woman's shoulder, and another on that of the shrouded body. It takes some effort, but a light rises around the Duamvi, linking the two, not unlike a Templar's aura but something more basic in the linked life of the children of Rhew'va.
Benedicto's brow furrows heavily as he looks down at Aloli. "But...he's going to return from the Underhalls?" He turns and glances upwards towards the cloudless sky. "Lord Damariel!" He bellows. "One of Yours has fallen and yet he does not return!"
Taaroshi trembles visibly at the sound of the mourning mother, swallowing once more, turning his head and eventually gazing away entirely, lowering it respectfully.
Taaroshi sniffles softly.
Oonagh's broad-set smile becomes less and less, as the understanding of what is taking place sets in, naught is left but a solemn hand to his heart and a lowering of his head out of respects.
The mid-morning light grows and blooms, at first like the glare of the sun that emanates outwards into the shape of a man, solidifying into the form of a God.
Damariel takes one look at the gathering and the figure, aware in heart but another thing entirely to be faced with the physical reality. "Daughter," He speaks first, approaching Aloli with the unsteady click of His taloned foot. "I know this pain." Simple, but words are never enough.
Aloli closes her eyes as she feels her God's warmth and support bloom at her shoulder, her silent tears fall freely and soak her son's shroud. It was Benedicto's voice that brought her out of her lost moment and she looked up to when she heard and felt her God. "Father," she cries openly and stands. "Krydo and now Alex," she gasps through her tears, as if adding to a conversation from long ago. Overwhelmed by her pain she cannot look away from her son for long.
"Lord Damariel." Benedicto addresses the newly arrived Deity. "Why does he not return?" He questions Him. "Surely he should be returning from the Underhalls about now?"
Lexen's eyes squeeze shut for a moment, his hand shifting to the chain wrapped around his forearm before he turns back to the other knights, then quietly places a hand on Benedicto's shoulder. "He rests with the Underking now, Benedicto. Taken to rest. His story complete," the warden offers quietly, though he seems to find no comfort in his own words.
Taaroshi blinks a few times, tears welling in his eyes.
Damariel exhales as He reaches a hand out towards Aloli, His gaze moving away from the body to focus upon Benedicto. "He has moved through the Halls. It is the Cycle. He will drift in all of memory and nurture new life again."
Stine finally shifts in his place somewhat near Lexen, the hand a heavy length of anaxagorite chain
wrapped around it coming up to press against his heart as he stands otherwise at attention.
Benedicto shakes his head, denying the words for a moment. Alas, they cannot be refuted and realization settles upon him as his attention moves from Lexen to Damariel. "He's gone." He finally manages.
Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound says, "Yes. No. He is in your sorrow, and the lead in your lungs as you breathe. It is love of him that brings such weight to your gut. His silhouette is in your hurt, and his heart will be in your joy when it returns to you."
Closing her eyes, Aloli concentrates and a warm light floods through her body.
Benedicto's breathing grows deeper, heavier and he suddenly reaches out to seize a dirt-smudged Akkari scout, dragging the man roughly towards him. "Where is the filth that did this?" He demands through gritted teeth. However, this anger quickly abates at Damariel's words and he releases the scout. "He sacrificed himself for others? Defending them from slavers you said?"
Damariel takes a moment for His own composure to draw a breath, a hand stretching out over the body. For a brief moment, the manacles on Alexsandor's wrists glow, the fading warmth, residual of the life lived.
You have emoted: Iames remains unmoving, quiet, and trembling as his gaze is focused upon his forearm where a heavy length of anaxagorite chain rests. Feeling a certain unfamiliarity as it is confirmed, hearing the Unbound speak, he forces himself to breath. Attempts to temper the anguish and anger within, he turns to Lexen at the mentioning of slavers once more.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout leans away from Benedicto as he is roughly pulled forward, body tensing beneath the might of the man's rage. "He killed six, there were signs of others sounded. They had ropes and there were wagon tracks. They left towards the wastes." He answers once he has taken a step back and given Benedicto a chance to breathe so that he could hear. "He saved three lives. The girl was delirious with fever but I got what I could from her."
Aloli touches Benedicto's arm lightly as he seizes a dirt-smudged Akkari scout. She's not interrupting, but seeking support, her weight in that hand. She's looks up at her God and understands the changes in her son's manacles.
Aloli starts to wield a pale, light handkerchief in her left hand.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout says, "A woman traveling with her child and father. He was escorting them on his patrol. They were attacked and she was injured. Her father took her boy and ran when there was a chance. Your Knight stayed with her and held them off. She'll live. A caravan was passing as I found them, and took her to the jungle village for help."
Benedicto gives a faint nod, his pearl-white eyes dropping to fix on Aloli and the body of her son in her arms. "He was ever an exemplary Knight and remained so...until his end." He draws a deep breath, attempting to gather himself and control the myriad of emotions that are clearly on display. "Lord Damariel, we cannot leave his body as it is. Would it be possible for us to inter him here? As befitting a hero of the Templar?"
Alexein holds Lexen's hand and looks up at him full of tears and pain. It is a silent look until she leaves the man's side to hug her brother, you.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout says, "When the others report in, I can give you a better assessment of that...but once she was in safe hands we had orders. Purify the remains, return with our own, see that they are cleansed...and to bring him home to you."
Battle commendations at risk of being eaten, an awkardly armoured chicken struts away in search of food.
Damariel looks to Benedicto, His expression distant as a man, not a God, grieving for another loss. "If you wish him to join the others in the garden, it is your Knighthood. Ashes feed the garden, as do the bones beneath. These are your traditions."
It's Alexein's hand in Lexen's that breaks the Idreth, tears starting to course down his cheeks as his hands fall to his sides, slack. He shakes his head once, as if that single movement would change something about the situation or any of the compounded pressure of emotions making it hard to breathe.
You have emoted: "He saved me from slavers once before." Iames utters in slight disbelief until Alexein's hug. Quietly, he wraps his arms around his sister, attempting to comfort her.
Benedicto nods his head with understanding. "As a Gallant I shall let his family decide what they would prefer, though it is agreed that the garden is the most fitting place." He lowers himself to one knee beside Aloli, his arm finding its way about her shoulders. "As his mother I give you the choice. In what manner do the Gallants honor their dead?" He asks softly.
Dannon very quietly approaches Lexen from the freest place behind him and offers a small, delicate touch to Lexen's freer shoulder and her fingers squeeze gently in an attempted show of emphatic support.
Aloli wipes her eyes as she starts to regain some semblance of control even though her tears have not ceased. Through her grief she looks at her children hugging each other exhales. Thankful for Benedicto's clarity, she turns her gaze back to him and takes a moment to collect herself, quietly in his eyes. Her words come out slowly and choked then she clears her throat and tries again, "We have our dearly departed in the family's mausoleum in the Iron Ivy but Alex loved the Vigil." She puts a hand on Benedicto's and explains, "He loved sitting here and reading, doing his exams here, and teaching here." She shifts to look to her beloved God and ask, "If possible, Father, may I bring a sarcophagus from our tombs here and let him rest here instead of our mausoleum." The question sits heavy in her heart and she squeezes Benedicto's hand with anxiety.
Benedicto nods his head, returning the pressure to Aloli's hand as he looks up at Damariel. "Is it possible to do that?"
Alexein can't stand to hear all this and she slips away from her brother to go back to crying in Lexen's arms.
Damariel mot Lanosaryon, the Unbound says, "It is. He is yours, and of you. His memory and this solace is for the living, and through you keep him alive."
Lexen's head jerks away from the side where Dannon touches his shoulder, though he doesn't pull away from the contact. Swallowing the bile building up in his throat, he reaches out an unsteady hand towards Dannon before a look of surprised confusion etches his features as he catches Alexein's sobbing form. His arm comes to rest around Alexein's shoulders, and he leans his head forward to rest against the crown of her head.
Sir Lexen Verite murmurs to Alexein, "I didn't understand. I'm so sorry I didn't understand."
Benedicto stands and glances about the assemblage, his expression drawn with fatigue and grief. "Friends. Comrades. Let us move to the garden so that we might honor and say goodbye to our fallen brother."
A garden radiating with life.
The sun beats down oppressively upon the land, banishing any moisture beneath its rays. Fragrant and lush, this garden is a verdant place, a winding gravel path weaving through the various beds of plants. Smaller footpaths radiate off of the central circle, leading to beds of plants and trees memorializing the past people and places that have been lost. There is a tine of Strength with oak, thyme, and gladiolas; a tine of Valour with rosemary, hollyhock, and mint; a tine of Wisdom with sage, iris, and almond; a tine of Faith with hyssop, lavender, and woodruff; and a tine of Remembrance, where a stone cairn has been carved with the names of the lost. A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. School having been suspended indefinitely, a Mhun girl plays here. A spectral stag stands here, his antlered head proudly raised. A pale memorial cairn is stacked upon a carved base resembling a shroud-draped shield. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Archmage Oonagh Heliodor Maximillian Morrog is here. He wields a long wave dagger of qufar in his left hand and a shark jaw buckler of klaio bronze in his right. Abbess Aloli Gallant is here. She wields a pale, light handkerchief in her left hand. Dannon Emerson is here. She wields a bamboo fishing pole in her right hand. Sir Lexen Verite is here. Benedicto Silverain is here.
You see a single exit leading west.
Lexen waves a hand over his brazier tattoo and it glows in response.
Alexein appears suddenly in your location, looking disoriented.
You have emoted: Iames stands at a great distance with a purpose, as he begins to check the blades at his waist. Meticulously combing each detail of his tools and armor plates. His gaze meeting Benedicto, silently begging for the permission he seeks. His speech absent in this moment, as he faces the unknown within.
Nianvi steps into view from the west, the white pall surrounding her frame briefly growing brighter.
Dannon tries not to interrupt the gathering any further than to provide Lexen a supportive grip on the arm, though her hold is aimed to be easily shaken should Lexen wish.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout looks up to the Pentarch and God, carefully carrying the shrouded body and awaiting indication of where to place him.
(Enorian): Benedicto says, "Citizens. I bear grave news. One of our own has fallen and passed beyond the Mirror. Our Templar brother Alexsandor has moved on. We are going to honor him within the Templar Vigil if any of you would like to attend."
Oonagh affords two webbed hands, one to each Alexein and you, with a gentle squeeze and nod. There is a subtle frown upon his broad face but the acknowledgement and soft inclination says more than words.
A figure of blinding light walks in and finds a place in the back of the room.
Damariel strides a few paces through the garden, turning off one of the smaller footpaths. Hand outstretched, light glows beneath the God's reach and the earth groans at His command. The scents of herbs, sweat, and iron rise and dissipate, leaving behind a smooth, raised surface in its wake.
A dirt-smudged Akkari scout's eyes widen at the display, but undaunted the man follows behind the God. Carefully, he lays the body down and takes the time to straighten him and resettle the crown of herbs upon his head.
Aloli wipes her damp eyes with a pale, light handkerchief and exhales a pained breath as she watches her son's clothes being organized.
Lexen stands close to Aloli and you, his arm still wrapped protectively around Alexein's shoulder. His hollow gaze is fixed on the body being arranged on the mount, and his visage seems to alternate between his jaw clenching in anger and the absolute slack void of grief.
The hushed sobbing is coming from Alexein as she hides her face in Lexen's side.
Benedicto's posture is rigid as his pearl-white eyes sweep across the crowd. He clears his throat before he announces, "We are gathered to wish our fallen brother, Sir Alexsandor Gallant, farewell. He has passed beyond the Mirror and as the sun sets upon us now, so too will it set upon him one final time." He glances down towards the ground, his words suddenly failing him. He draws a shaky breath before raising his head once more. "As Knights of the Templar we take vows. Firstly, we promise to listen sincerely, be pure of mind, and speak truthfully."
Benedicto Silverain says, "I can say with certainty that Alexsandor listened to everyone. He was an avid teacher, always looking to help and assist in whatever way he could."
Benedicto Silverain says, "He was pure of mind. He stood for what he believed and countenanced no corruption. He was truly a moral individual."
Aloli closes her eyes, draws in a deep breath, and then releases it slowly.
Benedicto Silverain says, "He always spoke truthfully and was forthright with his opinions. Whether, people wanted to hear them or not, he did not hold back and was ever eager to speak his mind or give his opinion."
Benedicto swallows, misty-eyed. "Knighthood is not just a title, nor is it merely a position. A Knight is the embodiment of duty. Duty to the Templarate, to the Beacon, to the Cycle, and world. At its core it is the duty to ensure that the Light may withstand the dark with integrity. Alexsandor Gallant fell fulfilling that duty. We ask every Templar Knight - 'Where there are the weak, the helpless, and the broken, will you raise your shield and defend them?" He pauses, picking out the Knights amongst the assemblage - Stine, you, Taaroshi, Lexen and Nianvi. "Alexsandor was a shield to the innocent. He stood and sacrificed himself so that the weak, the helpless, the innocent - so that they might live."
Alexein blinks a few times, tears welling in her eyes.
Aloli lowers her gaze from Benedicto to look for you then Alexein. Once she's noticed Alexein with Lexen she looks a little relieved but her hand never leaves Benedicto's, squeezing it with support which she instinctively imbues with a gentle healing of residual kai meant for both of them.
Benedicto pulls Syvelium's blade from his weaponbelt fluidly.
Benedicto starts to wield Syvelium's blade in his left hand.
Benedicto draws Syvelium's blade from a peace-tied, shackled sheath across his back. "This blade belonged to Sir Syvelium, and like him, we will remember Sir Alexsandor Gallant as an embodiment of what it means to be a Templar Knight. A shining light, as bright as the Grand Flame itself, of what it means to be, not just a Knight, but a warrior for both the Light and Life."
Benedicto raises Syvelium's blade towards the sky, a brilliant white light flaring before sinking into the metal, illuminating the blade with a pure glow.
As Benedicto points the blade towards the sky, it becomes imbued with a pure white light. "SIR ALEXSANDOR GALLANT!" He shouts, his voice cracking with grief.
Lexen straightens slightly as the blade is drawn, and he carefully shifts his grip on Alexein's shoulder, adjusting himself to free his sword arm while still having a firm hold on Alexein, hugging her close to his chest. With solemn silence, he draws his blade, then presents it in the Templar style salute towards the body, his features set into a distant stare and his resolve barely holding.
Lexen starts to wield a mithril-tempered anaxagorite longsword in his left hand.
Quickly snapping to a rigid stance, Lexen brings his weapon to a vertical position infront of his chest in an act of respect.
The massive blade seems to grow lighter as you grip it, allowing you to easily to wield it. White veins running up the blade pulse brightly in response to your touch.
You start to wield the Executioner's Greatsword in your hands.
Aloli repeats after Benedicto with a broken voice, "Alexsan..." However, she could not continue when she looks up to see all the bright swords raised in her son's name.
Quickly snapping to a rigid stance, the Templar Knights lining the room bring their weapons to a vertical position in front of their chests in an alert posture of respect.
Quickly snapping to a rigid stance, you bring your weapon to a vertical position infront of your chest in an act of respect.
From Enorian comes a shout that resonates across sapience, the emotion carrying the words "SIR ALEXSANDOR GALLANT!" towards all corners of the realm.
Simply overwhelmed by it all, Aloli begins to weep silently.
As the last of the voices settle, so does the light within the garden. Where Alexsandor's body had
once lain at rest, there is now his marble likeness, enduring and serene. Above him rises the Knight's sword, a shaped hand holding its hilt as if ready to rise and take up his duty, or perhaps laying down to rest after a long shift.
Benedicto lowers Syvelium's illuminated blade, tears flowing unchecked down his cheeks. "His duty is fulfilled. His honor remains unsullied. His light is undiminished."
"SIR ALEXSANDOR GALLANT" echoes the firmament.
Alexein gives Aloli a tight hug.
Aloli turns to her daughter and collects her in her arms tightly. After a moment she leans back from the embrace and wipes her daughter's tears.
Benedicto reaches out to place a hand upon a sword-embedded sarcophagus. "Rest well my friend. Surely you will have had no regrets as you faced the Underking."
Aloli looks upon a sword-embedded sarcophagus and breathes deeply.
Benedicto sheathes Syvelium's illuminated blade and steps back from the sword-embedded sarcophagus. "Please feel free to say your goodbyes in your own ways. Thank you all for coming. He would have smiled and been overjoyed to see so many friends and family gathered in his memory."
You have emoted: Iames is thankful for his helmet and its visor, as it masks his demeanor. His gaze never leaving a sword-embedded sarcophagus in his unwavering salute to his fallen brother.
Oonagh exhales a moment, looking upon those gathered and his prayer now emanating louder for those surrounding to hear, slowly, the Cardinal raises his volume to resound to each of the ears present, "As now we walk the path of sorrow, with fresh tears in our eyes, the loss will exist amongst us, each and every night." A step taking him forward as each of those give their respects, his tone the background to varying goodbyes and hugs shared.
Archmage Oonagh Heliodor Maximillian Morrog says, "Yet I know that your heart endures, resurrected in each our lives, the heavens so close and tangible, your hope shining so bright."
Archmage Oonagh Heliodor Maximillian Morrog says, "And so I bury deep within this garden surrounded by hearted love, I let you lead my gaze up to the skies high above."
Archmage Oonagh Heliodor Maximillian Morrog says, "I drink the fountain of the dawn to fill my troubled mind, the birds like tiny angels lifting their wings to fly."
Archmage Oonagh Heliodor Maximillian Morrog says, "We do not walk this path alone for your memory exists each day, and as we sleep we're reminded of you, even though you are away."
The heightening of the sun flashes across a lumenite blade within the garden. Briefly, the name "Sir Alexsandor Gallant" is visible within the metal.
Archmage Oonagh Heliodor Maximillian Morrog says, "And trust that you can lead us through, each dark and lonely night, 'till the cycle calls your family home to join you in the Light."
Oonagh exhales and croaks aloud, "Until then, Sir Alexsandor," and with that he affords each of the family a nod and lowers his head to find himself back at the rear.
Aloli agrees with Oonagh as she wipes her eyes, "One day," she whispers.
Ayodele lifts his longsword in salute to a sword-embedded sarcophagus, his face stoic, before lowering it once more and remaining silent.
Aloli carefully polishes a pair of blackened steel manacles, drawing a warm, pale light from the metal.
Aloli drags her fingers through the light upon a pair of glowing, blackened steel manacles, gathering some upon her fingertips. With an uttered word, she flings her hand skyward, releasing the light in a bright flare that reaches towards the heavens.
A bright beam of pale, pure light flares towards the sky, brightening the area for a few moments.
Red and variegated as if recently touched, the lumenite sword upon a sarcophagus begins to fade back to its coppery silver, stoic and peaceful as the flowers that grow around it and reflect off of its face.
Benedicto Silverain says, "I must now go to my rest."
Benedicto inclines his head politely to those around him.
Aloli nods her head emphatically.
This is the sarcophagus that now rests in the Templar's Vigil in his honor.
a sword-embedded sarcophagus:
Made of pale white marble, this sarcophagus is heavy and immovable. On the lid is an exquisitely detailed sculpture of a Knight in repose, a timeless look of peace and wisdom on his face. One arm is extended to grasp the hilt of his sword, perpendicular with his prone body, the lumenite blade gleaming and pristine. A pair of broken iron manacles is draped across its hilt, the chains coiled like vines around the marble hand's fingers. The Knight's white cape drapes over the lid which is permanently sealed to the sarcophagus. On the side of the sarcophagus, a shield bearing the Gallant's sigil has been reverently propped, as immovable and resolute as the marble it leans against. There, emblazoned in gold and beset with a ruby, is a heart pierced with a sword. At the foot of the statue is a plaque that reads his name and the date of his death: Sir Alexsandor Gallant, the 11th of Lleian, year 482 of the Midnight Age.