Oscar Viotto
Member
- Messages
- 18
"I'm glad Rosebury decided to spare you." The Detritor sighed. The priest of the Silent Court cut a rather splendid figure next to Oscar; a triangular headdress covered the majority of his head, and heavy robes draped around his features. The colors were bright, oranges, whites, greens and reds, all with triangles as a main theme to the embroidery. Bells made of iron tolled softly as he picked his way through the graveyard, using a staff made of birch to guide his footing.
Oscar was dressed in a plum suit, with a white linen shirt. He was just happy he'd chosen a set of sturdy black boots for the occasion, as the graveyard was anything but organized. Bodies laid in state, gathered from various places around Arethil. The Detritors' responsibility was to sort them. Those who didn't have unfinished business were respectfully buried. Those who had ties to the world above were raised and given citizenship. The Silent Court was a place for people to adjust to and contend with death, or watch over their loved ones until they felt well enough to move on. Oscar pulled a cigarette free from a small silver case, putting it between his lips and lighting it with a match. It smelled thickly of tobacco, cloves, and sweetness.
"What better guide to the dead than a man who enjoys being so?" Oscar said with a cheerful smile.
The Detritor knelt by the body of the young woman. Her seal had been freshly carved, and Oscar could see the soft glow of a newly-pinned soul. A good place for it, the eye socket. The Detritor nodded to him. "I'll leave this one to you." he told him, and moved away. Oscar pulled up one of the stone benches, and settled on it.
He watched her with a raised eyebrow and smoked. "Come come, dear, out of the veil of sleep and blackness. Return to the light, though it be more a candle than the burning gaze of Arethil's sky." he called to her.
Ratha
Oscar was dressed in a plum suit, with a white linen shirt. He was just happy he'd chosen a set of sturdy black boots for the occasion, as the graveyard was anything but organized. Bodies laid in state, gathered from various places around Arethil. The Detritors' responsibility was to sort them. Those who didn't have unfinished business were respectfully buried. Those who had ties to the world above were raised and given citizenship. The Silent Court was a place for people to adjust to and contend with death, or watch over their loved ones until they felt well enough to move on. Oscar pulled a cigarette free from a small silver case, putting it between his lips and lighting it with a match. It smelled thickly of tobacco, cloves, and sweetness.
"What better guide to the dead than a man who enjoys being so?" Oscar said with a cheerful smile.
The Detritor knelt by the body of the young woman. Her seal had been freshly carved, and Oscar could see the soft glow of a newly-pinned soul. A good place for it, the eye socket. The Detritor nodded to him. "I'll leave this one to you." he told him, and moved away. Oscar pulled up one of the stone benches, and settled on it.
He watched her with a raised eyebrow and smoked. "Come come, dear, out of the veil of sleep and blackness. Return to the light, though it be more a candle than the burning gaze of Arethil's sky." he called to her.
Ratha