conversations: human
conversations:  "To the friends and family of Professor Petros J. Lorrimor..." 
  
  The letter was solemn, written by a shaky hand that obviously had little time to grieve.
  
   "His last wish was for you to come to Ravengro..." 
  
  The trek was long, and even as you reached the banks of Lake Encarthan and continued even further north that even the land mourned the end of the Professor's life. The last few days of your journey have been doused in relentlessness rain. Colors of the villages you've past have turned grey and after the third day of straight rain, the greys begin to run and meld together. You're soaked to the bone as you reach Ravengro and yet you're certain as you reach the town and ask for directions to the professor's home that your journey is not yet done.
  
  You are each directed to the graveyard on the far end of the town. The rain seems heavier here, the dirt roads turning all to mud making the trek up the hill that much more difficult. At the top of the hill stands a small unseemingly connected group: a woman in her early 20s, a man with a face of gnarled skin and three other men carrying shovels. Beside them on a wagon is a large, well-built coffin of a dark wood.
conversations: Moon&Stars:
conversations: human
conversations:  Levin 
  
  Boots heavy with mud, the young man slogs though the muck to the solemn gathering.  His hawkish eyes peer out under his grey hood.  Moving to the woman he says,  "My condolences, I came as fast as I can.  I am Levin." 
conversations: shugyosha:
conversations: human
conversations:  Augustin , Human Oracle
  
  A young, dark haired man stood still and upright, the bottom of his white tabbard blowing softly in the cool breeze, a Pharasman spiral hanging from his neck above the black rose adorning his chest. Below the tabbard were simple, gray clothes, armor having no place on the solemn occasion.
  
  Augustin was no stranger to funerals, feeling rather in his element. he had officiated over the rites many times himself since he received his gift. Everyone in Ustalav knows their importance. Its not just about saying goodbye, but about ensuring that the goodbye is final.
  
  He stands with a group of relative strangers, though a few of the faces are familiar.
  
  Discerning the identity of the lady both from her expression and the deference others give her, Augustin steps forward and introduces himself with a bow,  "You must be Kendra. I am Augustin of House Dragos. You father mentioned you warmly. My condolences on your loss, he was a good man and faithful friend, though I knew him briefly. He will certainly find a worthy reward."  He bows again and steps back returning to his solemn vigil.
conversations: stack:
conversations: human
conversations:  Melchior 
  
  If there was anyone who looked even remotely at home in this bleak place, it was the figure that next stepped past the graveyard's gates. A tall, lean figure in black robes that reached past his knees, leaving worn black boots visible, the heavy hood hiding his features save for silver-grey beard as he walked slowly up the hillside. As he neared the burial site, other details appeared. The dull gleam of darkened chainmail underneath the collar. Gloved hands clasped in reverence. An iron pendant resting against his chest, depicting a spiraling comet, marking him as one of the faithful of Pharasma, the goddess of death.
  
  Stopping by the wagon, the hooded man lifted his eyes, revealing the features of a man of advanced years, his face lined and creased but his eyes still sharp - and touched by sorrow. He looked at the coffin in silence, as if communing wordlessly with the man within. After that brief moment, he turned to the rest of the party. Walking over, he waited until his fellow Pharasmin had spoken. When the man turned away, the blackrobe greeted him with a spiral over his heart - a greeting common among their faith - before he addressed the young woman.  "Miss Kendra Lorrimor"  he spoke softly, his voice gentle and deep as he nodded his solemn greeting.  "Melchior Aruvashti. My condolences on your father's passing. May the Lady gaze upon him with kindness."  That said, he stepped aside in case other mourners would come to pay their respects.
conversations: North_Ranger:
conversations: human
conversations:  Gwendolyn Nevartheen 
  
  The thin Elven woman who approaches the graveyard is a small ray of sunshine amidst all the doom and gloom. When she approaches Kendra she gives her a slight but sad and sympathetic smile, offering her condolences as she takes the woman's hands in hers.  "I did not know him as well I would have liked, but the Professor made quite an impression on me when we met. I can only imagine the impact he had in the lives of those who knew him better. If there is anything I can do to help you through this, please let me know. My name is Gwendolyn, but please call me Gwen." 
conversations: King Tius:
conversations: human
conversations:  Irina  
  
  A young woman fights her way up the slick path, huddled under an oilcloth umbrella in a vain attempt to save her mourning dress from the drenching downpour. She approaches the small funeral procession, stopping only briefly to shake what mud spatter she can from her tooled boots and dry her tinted glasses.
  
   "You must be Kendra,"   she favors the young woman with a curtsy and cracks a rare smile.  "I'm Irina Kozmir. I don't know if the Professor mentioned me to you, but he often talked about you in his letters to me. I know that he truly cared for you, and I'm glad that we've finally met, though I sincerely wish it were under better circumstances."
  
  "There are many who will mourn the loss of your father, and not just because of his brilliant work. He always felt it was his responsibility to use his gifts to help others, which is an all too rare trait among those so talented."  
conversations: Bhaakon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Kendra accepts each of you quietly, murmuring her thanks of their being there. When everyone arrives, Kendra seems to take a long, deep breath, placing a hand on the coffin.
  
  "My friends, I hate to ask after such a long journey, but will you do my father the honor to carrying him to his final resting place?"
conversations: Moon&Stars:
conversations: human
conversations:  Augustin nods gravely.  "It would be an honor." 
  
  He takes position toward the back of the casket, given his limited vision, and waits solemnly for the others to join him.
conversations: stack:
conversations: human
conversations:  Irina  
   "Of course, dear,"  Irina answers immediately,  "it would be a privilege." 
  
  Despite her verbal enthusiasm, the woman pauses for a long moment before folding up her umbrella and exposing herself to the downpour.   Gods forbid I decide to attend a funeral in appropriate attire. Next time I'll turn up in armor and an oilskin; at least then I wouldn't end up looking like a drowned cat.   Her hands now free, she takes her place beside the casket as the rain wreaks havoc on her hair and clothing.
conversations: Bhaakon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Melchior 
   "It is the least we can do to honor him in death",  the old Pharasmin answered solemnly and walked over to the coffin. Considering a moment, the grey-bearded priest takes his place in front of his brother in faith.
  
   "Brother, I will be your eyes if you will be my arm",  he spoke softly to the milky-eyed man. What he lacked in strength, the man who had introduced himself as Melchior made up in sight - and he hoped the younger man would help him in carrying their deceased friend on his last journey on this earth.
conversations: North_Ranger:
conversations: human
conversations:  Augustin gives a deep nod to his coreligionist.  "Thank you, brother. 'Tis our duty, is it not? And though it is our friend we send on, we can take comfort that it will be done properly." 
conversations: stack:
conversations: human
conversations:  "True",  the elderly cleric answered with a nod, rain pelting down on the heavy hood and robes he wore on this sad, rainy day.  "Though it saddens my heart to see that only a handful of people have come to bid their farewells to him. Considering how many lives he touched by his work." 
conversations: North_Ranger:
conversations: human
conversations:  Levin 
  
  The hawkish man nods and gives an understanding smile.  His gloved hand gripped a handle on the coffin.  When the others are in place he hoists the casket to his shoulder and begins the solemn parade to the professor's final resting place.
conversations: shugyosha:
conversations: human
conversations:  Gwendolyn takes her place among the pall bearers, keeping her cowl up in the rain. She is surprisingly strong for her slender frame and has no trouble holding up her end of the coffin.
conversations: King Tius:
conversations: human
conversations:  Originally Posted by North_Ranger 
    "True",  the elderly cleric answered with a nod, rain pelting down on the heavy hood and robes he wore on this sad, rainy day.  "Though it saddens my heart to see that only a handful of people have come to bid their farewells to him. Considering how many lives he touched by his work."  
   
  
   "On the contrary, it would appear that our fellows here have come a great distance. It is a small village, there can only be so many locals here, but those you undertake such a journey show the effect he had on them." 
conversations: stack:
conversations: human
conversations:  A hard-bitten young man arrives, just as wet as the others, though the clever arrangement of treated hides he wears seems to be keeping the worst of it out.
   
  "Sorry I couldn't make it here sooner. I set out as soon as I got word,"  he begins sheepishly.  "I'm Varec,"  he hastily adds as he realizes he hasn't introduced himself. Well, he knew he might make a hash of formalites he was unused to, but this was plain awkward. And at a funeral of all things.
conversations: Athaleon:
conversations: human
conversations:  Auric Greyquill 
  
  Limping into the graveyard, Auric curses the rain again for delaying him. He hadn't even had time to change into better clothes, though at least they were clean, and even dry, thanks to his magic.
  
  The funeral was already in motion, with several people he'd never met already lifting what must be the professor's coffin from a wagon. For a moment, he's indecisive, not sure what to do; he hadn't intended to arrive late. Shrugging, he stumps over to the other mourners. He makes a mental note to offer his condolences to Kendra later, but for now, he'll just watch.
  
  He didn't like funerals anyways. He knew far too much about them, and they always seemed so frustrating, a life cut short before their work was done. Besides, his leg hurt. It always did in the rain, but it hurt more today. Maybe it was how far he'd traveled to get here, but he suspected it was simply his imagination, memories awoken by the professors death.
conversations: Keylac:
conversations: human
conversations:  Arzhus 
  
  A young man in clinking mail hustles up to the group, his pale face pink with embarrassment at being late.  His tabard is black, with the insignia of a rising sun and a howling wolf.  The crest's origin is obvious to those familiar with Ustalavic heraldry.  It's that of House Graydon, Ustalav's self-proclaimed "Guardians of the Dawn."  His black hair hangs limp and drippy in the rain, and his sunken eyes seem bloodshot, as if he hasn't slept in days.
  
    "Kendra!  Kendra, it's me!  Arzhus!"  
  
  By the time he catches up, he's winded.
  
    "I sincerely apologize for being late.  I was held up on my way here from Vigil."  
  
  He kneels before Kendra, taking her hand and pressing his cheek to it before rising again.  He looks at the coffin sadly.
  
    "Oh, Petros, old friend, how I'll miss you."  
  
  Noticing others, he turns to them.
  
    "My apologies.  Arzhus Graydon, Knight of Ozem and servant of the Inheritor at your service."  
  
  He bows politely to them.
conversations: Archpaladin Zousha: