Heen (Realm)/Heenite Highlights/November '07/Fairwell Funeral
Contents
Unlimited Power
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Unlimited Power | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Mark Anthony Obeji | |
| Mark Anthony stood in the front row, watching Naal address the crowd, waiting for his turn. When Naal stepped down from the altar and embraced Seamus, Mark Anthony waited a few seconds before making his way there. Once there he looked up the the ceiling and took a deep breath.
Mark Anthony exhaled, and still looking up at the ceiling said, "Unlimited power," he looked down at the crowd, "that is what we as Celts possess. We have it because we have eachother. We have it because we have our home. We have it because we are not afraid of death, and let me tell you that makes us a very deadly weapon." "When Erin first befriended me, I did not understand how someone could not be afraid of death. I had no idea why someone would fight against inconceivable odds, knowing full well that death might be waiting for them." Mark Anthony took a few seconds to look at the crowd of people watching him. "I have only recently grasped the idea that there are things much, much worse than death. Like being alone in this world. Erin taught me that." |
"That is why I would gladly die for the Celts and for Heen. I can now say I am a better man after meeting Erin. And I am sure Erin has affected you all like that, I'm sure you all can say you understand more because you met Erin."
"That is why I called him my king. Not because he was the tallest man, not because he was a great drinker of ale," Mark Anthony paused for a second to let the chuckles disappear, "I called him king because he helped me become who I am. And who I am is a Celt." Mark Anthony stepped down from the Altar and walked to the side of Erin. He looked at Erin for a couple of seconds, then kneeled down before him with his head down. Slowly he stood up, turned and walked back to his previous position at the front row, waiting for someone else to approach the altar. | |
Erin, My Da
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Erin, My Da | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Alastar Mac Bhaididh | |
| Alastar slowly made his way to the front of the hall to adress the people of Heen. Alastar was defenetly not one for public speaking but felt it in him that he must try to remember his chieftain in the best way possible.
"Erin....I have known him since I was a young lad. When my Pa died Erin was always there for me. He was more than a big brother, he was me Da. He was there for me when my wife died. Never was there a time when Erin was not their to watch over me even when my actions were incorrect. I will miss you my friend, I still cannot beleive that you are gone." |
Alastar began to weep and began to get chocked up. He decided that this was enough talk. He stepped down pulled the ring that Octavia had given him and set it beside Naal's gift.
"Good Bye my King I will follow your example to the end." | |
Tale of a Man
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Tale of a Man | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Fror Dwarf | |
| Fror stood in the front row of the ceremony; he had left his new unit of cavalry in the town of Sotrebar as none of those men had known Erin personally.
He was dressed in ceremonial armour, the armour he was given when he was proclaimed king of the long gone kingdom of Joppo. Fror hadn’t put on the armour since that day, It just felt fitting that he would honour the passing of another king by standing tall and proud, the way that he would always picture the firey headed Celtic king. Over the past month or so the friendship that had grown between Fror and Erin had made being away from home a lot easier on long expeditions. Erins laughter and ability to play soulful music made even the worst of times seem simple and easy to deal with. In respect of not only Erin, but all of the Celts that were there and saying their piece Fror stood silently without moving like a stone goliath of a man until it was his turn to have his say. He headed slowly up the steps towards the alter, turning around he looked out across the mass of people that had turned up to pay their respects to the great man that had fallen, their friend, their comrade, their Celtic king. “Firstly, I would like to thank those who have spoken before myself, every word they have spoken about Erin has been meaningful and true to the last letter.” Fror began, his bellowing voice carrying out into the orders courtyard for all to hear. “There is not much more that I can say about Erin than you do not already know, he was a man of honour and had a lot of pride in what he believed. |
Instead I will tell you all a tale of a man, a man who could lift the souls of all, Just by walking into a room everyone would feel lifted no matter what the situation. You could call this man a god, for his ability to lighten the mood in even the darkest hour was god like.
This man had lost a lot in his life, but through it all remained positive and never looked back on decisions that had been made, he made friends and stuck by them when all seemed lost, he founded an order and poured his soul into it, giving it life. When finally a foe bested him in battle, he lay fatally wounded on the battlefield, all power drained from his body. All around him you could feel the surge of energy given off by his ultimate sacrifice to defend another of his men. His comrades rose up and fought like men possessed. Though outnumbered they fought until the last. Our hero, our god, our King Erin is this person, though he now fights in the eternal void he will forever be in our minds and swords as we keep fighting those who would harm the good and innocent. I know leave you with a code, this code has been what my life is based on, Erin was not told of this code until a few days before his final battle, but I believe he lived by this code without knowing. “Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie , cheat or steal. These are things for lesser men. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain lead you into the pursuit of evil.” As Fror finished speaking, the mass of people was deafly silent, whether in complex thought or morning for Erin. Fror turned around and lifted his ceremonial sword in salute to Erin. After several moments he headed back down to take his place among the mourning crowd. | |
The Queen's Speech
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The Queen's Speech | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Martana Curs | |
| I'd like to say a word too, although I find them unfortunately lacking. But what could I have expected on such a day, when we give honours to a close friend of all of us?
I must admit, I was surprised when a courier requested an audience on the ground of Erin's Will. An even more when a was given most likely one of the most precious things to him, his wedding ring. He must have had his reasons to do so, and I can only presume it was a token of love for Heen. A sign that he had loved Heen so dearly. |
Even though the Celtish and the Heenite culture are not alike in all detail, I know that Erin managed to bring out the best in both of them, combined, brought together. I hope he would not mind me wearing this ring. As it would represent the bond between the Heenite culture and the Celts; it would represent his sacrifice and love; it would represent so much that Heen stands for.
I hope to see you again soon, dear friend... Martana Curs | |
But Sadness Left
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But Sadness Left | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Medium | |
| Medium opened his sidebag and took out a scarf, the Tartan Scarf that was granted him by Erin's squire. He hung it over his left shoulder, and ended the scarf on the other side, below on his belt. He felt immensely proud to be able to wear such a precious thing of a great warrior. Looking at the Scarf, he stood there, silently, touching it. For minutes he could not say a word. He simply stood there in front of the rest, slowly breathing, and thinking about the importance of this Scarf.
"Erin..." he spoke at last, "what is left for people to say here? Noone can speak greater than you have acted. You have given your life for your people. There is but sadness left for us to express, sadness because you are no longer with us, but also pride, for the times we have had you with us, for the great memory you have left for us to remind, for the Celtic Order you have worked on, for the family you have brought together, for the just cause you have given us to fight for, and happines, for the love, loyalty and friendship you have bestowed upon is, the example you have given for us to follow when living with these values, and for so much more. |
Erin, I am honoured to wear this Scarf in your honour, in your memory. I will wear it with dignity, in battle and beyond, and my sword will be at service of your memory, so your valour will live on in the other Celts." He paused for a moment. "May your valour be the connection between our world and the next, which you are now representing, and your image will live on in our hearts."
He looked down at the Scarf, pulled it up a little, and felt the structure. Then he looked up again. "Gra, Dilseacht, Cairdeas." With that, he turned around and walked back, still with his hand on his sword as he had come. | |
Fill Your Shoes
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Fill Your Shoes | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Jadine Baraedor | |
| The room was silent as Medium left the altar. Jadine stood and made her way to the altar, with each step more difficult, so heavy was the burden of grief and guilt on her shoulders. Erin had been killed in a battle that Jadine was present for, and she should have been by his side to aid him. Such a warrior he had been though, that Jadine had not worried for his safety until she had not been able to see him during the retreat of the Heenite forces.
She took the final steps towards the altar and looked at her friend in his casket, his skin paler than it had ever been in the desert lands of Heen, but the body of Erin still looked every bit the warrior. She knew that he would be with his ancestors, but she could still not shake off her grief. “Goodbye my friend Erin, you were taken from us far too soon, taken to your ancestors and taken to battle evil in another world. We grew to be closest friends in Heen, and I am thankful that I had the chance to know you, even though it was a shorter time that I would have liked. You leave us now your brother Seamus to lead the Celts in glorious battle, and a great succcessor to you he will be, but no-one will be able to fill your shoes.” |
Jadine looked up and her eyes passed over the crowds of people who had come to pay their respects. There were more people present than she had expected even for a great man like Erin. Her sister Alana at the side of Seamus, who looked to have grown in stature despite being wracked with grief. She knew Alana would help Seamus with his grief, and that they would be strong together.
“I swear to you Erin, that the Chieftains Shield, you awarded me with for saving your life, will be laid upon your grave once Improbable, the Daimon scum, is destroyed. Slán leat, a chara dhílis.” Jadine left the altar with a little less weight on her shoulders, but she knew that this grief would not be gone for a long time yet. | |
Off the Mark
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Off the Mark | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Attila Oshea | |
| Attila attended Erin's memorial, but he did not speak. He would not pretend they had been friends in life, for they had not. But Attila knew Erin had been a man of honour and Attila had recently decided that he was far, far, off the mark in his early suspicions about the man and the Celtic Order. It was truly a shame to have lost this great lord of Heen. Indeed, the stature of all those speaking in Erin's memory spoke volumes about the fallen hero. | Attila stopped his mind wondering as Jadine made her way to the altar to speak, and once she had finished Attila made a short prayer to Siama, God of Heroes, to look after Erin in the Estahs. In a further bout of reflection, Attila hoped that by the time he passed, he would be able to find Erin in the Blazimir Forests and tell him of the death of Improbable, and the significance of the Cheiftan's Shield laid upon his grave... | |
Thrydwulf's Song
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Thrydwulf's Song | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Thrydwulf | |
| Thrydwulf was stood in the packed guildhouse, sandwiched between two peasants wearing funny clothes who seemed to be in awe that they were stood next to the High Marshal. Thrydwulf didn't notice. He didn't see them jostling for the best position and he didn't feel when they accidentally knocked into him. He didn't notice them until he heard one of them say: "come on then...when's this thing gonna start, i'm hungry".
Turning to his side he looked at the small group of peasants all jostling for a better position next to Thrydwulf. Staring blankly at them for a few seconds, they did not realise he was looking at them. Shaking his head, he focussed on these rude people properly and suddenly remembered where he had seen peasants dress like that before. Suuk. He wasn't aware that any Meshians were invited and before they got out of hand he decided to put a stop to their insolence. Even as he began to raise his right arm, his skin browned by the constant sun in the desert the peasants realised the High Marshal of Heen was staring at them with sadness. Holding his arm out, he gripped the shoulder of the nearest peasant firmly but not painfully. "Everyone is welcome here if they have come to pay their respects to my good friend. If that is what you have come for, then my name is Thrydwulf. Everyone here today feels differently, but we all have one thing in common - the loss of a good friend." The peasants from Suuk stood there looking slightly ashamedly into the deeply tanned face of the man with the sorrowful eyes. His face was furrowed with pain and sadness, his eyes sunken. The black material he wore to cover his head when out in the sun hung down the back of his neck, resting on the black cloak he wore around his full battle armour. The slightly bow legs from riding all day every day did not demean his stature. The desert had hardened him into a tough looking character, and the peasants could well see this. "But if you have not come to pay your respects like the rest of us, then you are not welcome here. I would not wish to cause trouble when there are so many friends of Erin around. You would do well to hold your tongues and think upon your actions. Now be still, for I see Naal approaching the altar." Quietly the peasants shuffled around a bit until they were included in the lines of people facing Erin's cousin as he walked up the steps and turned to speak. Thrydwulf had felt strangely quiet since the battle in Naraka. He had seen death before, but it had never affected him so. The loss of someone so big in his life had left him blank. He could not feel anything, his mind was numb. As he listened to the words of Naal, he closed his eyes and the images of Erin's last battle ran through his mind again as they had done so often the last few days. Every time it played out until he saw Erin charge at the Daimon, but it always stopped then. He knew there was nothing he could have done more, but it did not ease the feeling. His eyes drifted across the numbers in the hall and every face showed the same sad expression. Naal finished, and Mark Anthony, then Alastar, Evan, Jadine, Fror, Medium, Martana, even Attila stepped up to pay their respects. Thrydwulf could not move his feet. He knew he should do the same as the others, but there seemed to be something stopping him, some barrier of grief he had not yet crossed. What could he say that hadn't already be said? Then he remembered the fiddle Erin used to play, and wished he would play it now. Erin always knew what tune to play, no matter what the mood. All the Celts seemed to have all these songs they all knew, and while he was learning some of them and almost recognising a couple. Although he didn't have a great singing voice, he had joined in with the songs at Beatrice's Fathers funeral all those years ago in Atamara. Then he remembered one of the songs that had been sung that joyful day, and suddenly he realised his feet had carried him to the front of the guildhall. In a strong and confident voice Thrydwulf began: |
As the ball in the sky tonight shines it's light for the world to see Someone smiles in this empty darkness That i'll always miss you, if you are not around You do everything that i've ever asked you And i'll always miss you, if you are not around "Erin, I leave you with that song. The love that Heen felt for you, i know you felt in return. Heen will always miss you. You will be in our hearts until each of them beats its last pulse of life. Look what you have achieved. All who stand here today grieve as one. We do grieve, Erin. I know you would wish that we were celebrating your life, and i am sure that will come. But you were taken away from us, from your loves - your friends and your family. And even as you watch down upon us know, know that you have spread something in Heen. Your passing has affected all, no matter what walk of life. Today, peasants stand beside Royalty, family beside friends, desert people beside Celts. All united with the same feeling - the loss of a great love. I wish that you were here, we all do, and being without you is something we all will have to deal with. But know that we will all deal with it together. Nobody will be left to grieve on their own. Your beliefs and your spirit have infected everyone for the better, and i know that you will be happy it is so. I promise to you now that i will learn how to play your fiddle. Seamus will teach me i hope, although i have not asked him yet. We will miss you Erin." Thrywulf knealt down beside the casket and finally he began to weep. The days of pent up frustrations, sadness and stress were released as his palms caught the tears of sorrow. He felt a hand on his shoulder but did not look up although he guessed who it was. "We will miss you Erin" he repeated. | |
Prayer For Erin
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Prayer For Erin | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Plagueis Orgauth | |
| Plagueis wasn't a friend of Erin and didn't knew him much but he still felt unbereably sad,but he knew that Qyrvagg | would recognise him as a Kanunim and would accept him in his holy city
He didn't speak but his feelings were clear to all who looked at him,then he left to pray in Erin's honor | |
Linker's Song
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Linker's Song | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Linker Habap | |
| Moving slowly, Linker steps from the back of the crowd and begins walking up the aisle, the booming voice that served him so well in his time as a preacher in Sirion serving him well as he sings:
The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone Reaching the steps of the altar, he turns to face the crowd, tears streaming down his face, singing more loudly: The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain |
Linker wipes his eyes. "I, too, am no native to Heen. I came here seeking excitement, but never thought I would find a home in the desert. Men such as Erin dot the history of our grand land, from early days of such men as Sing Tahga, through heroes of the founding of Heen by Gaius Marius Angmar. It is altogether fitting that we honour Erin, who died a true Hero of the Desert. May the Holy Father and Elune watch over your soul, Erin, and may we watch over Heen for you."
Once more, he raised his voice in song: The Minstrel Boy will return we pray | |
See You Soon
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See You Soon | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Alana Baraedor | |
| As Alana stood by Seamus’ side and watched the people go up to the altar, say their feelings, and go back down, each time she could feel Seamus’ quiver with emotion.
She grabbed his hand and held it tightly and was amazed at how well he was coping with the grief. She decided she would not go and speak, as Seamus knew how she felt, as did all the Celts. |
Instead, she approached the casket and placed a kiss on Erin’s forehead and whispered “Goodbye my brother, I’m sure you’re already having a great time with your ancestors. Me and Seamus will see you soon, but not too soon my friend, not too soon. Look out for Seamus, he‘ll need your guidance now more than ever.” | |
In Awe of the Love
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In Awe of the Love | ||
| 30 November 1007 | <Caroline Tinsley | |
| Caroline was in awe over the outpouring of love for Erin. She came to the hall out of respect, not having had a chance to get to know the Celt. She still felt like an outsider in Heen, one that didn't fit in, yet.
The young woman had prepared a speech, one cobbled together from those that her father gave when the young men of Falasan died on the fields of battle. She didn't know the protocol of the service. As she started to rise to go forward, she saw movement. Her queen was headed towards the front of the hall. "Let the leaders go first," she reminded herself. |
After a period of silence, she rose and moved forward to the altar. As the moist eyes of those gathered looked at her, every thought vanished from her mind. She tried to grasp any little bit of the talk, but it was gone. She heard herself say:
- Thank you, Erin. Then, with reverence, she moved back among the mourners. | |
