<div align="center">(https://78.media.tumblr.com/4adc9c33eebb0decfd69bc702edb93bd/tumblr_oxwfoeOBd11utyn51o1_r1_500.jpg)</div><hr/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://wallportal.com/uploads/posts/dark-graveyard-wallpaper/dark_graveyard_wallpaper_015.jpg)</div>A chill drizzle falls from the dreary overcast sky, enough to make mud cling to the boots and hems of the procession of mourners taking the journey from Ravengro's Pharasmin Church to the cemetery, termed The restlands. At the head of the procession is a slim young woman, her face veiled  and head bowed; beside her is a young acolyte, his shaved head bowed over a prayer book as he intones a dirge. It is a small gathering, measuring just ten, including yourselves. And in the middle of this procession is a coffin; just plain pine wood, adorned with a few wreaths of dark-petaled iris and lily. If you are among the pallbearers, you find the burden lighter than you might have expected; could so great a scholar, so close a friend really be so little, frail flesh and hollow bones?<br/><br/>As you pass through the rust-blotched iron gates to the Restlands, spreading oaks blot out much of the dim light, the leaves and moss channeling the drizzle into fat dollops of cold water. Up the winding path ahead is another cluster of figures, with a few orange-glowing lanterns between them.<br/><br/>((OOC: Please do note if your character is among the pallbearers))