Arcaea/Dining Hall Late 08-09/A Solitary Mourner

Roleplay from Aeriel Haerthorne (7 minutes ago) Message sent to everyone in "Magna Aenilia Ecclesia" (45 recipients)

A late summer rain was falling.

Walking through the streets of Topenah since the war with Ethiala had always been an unnerving experience for Aeriel, even when most of the damage was wrought upon the people by those who had ruled them in the first place. Now especially, there were barely any signs of the war that had raged outside except for the simple truth that became blaring obvious as soon as one passed the city gates. Abandoned houses were falling into decay everywhere, not because of poverty but simply because there was no one to live in them. Even the avenues leading the plaza seemed somewhat empty at the height of day. Pulling a few strands of her long, dust-stained auburn hair out of her eyes, Aeriel looked up from her placid black mount to the aristocratic quarter and the ducal palace.

For a moment she held the small column of cavalry back, pulling them to a stop before the place where the Duke had died. A statue rising from the red clay before the river, standing in its noble watch over the city he had pledged to defend, rebuild, and died in. At the base of the column beneath his feet were several dying flowers plucked from the boulevards he had replanted - a smattering of roses, lavender and lilies. She sighed at the sight of his stoney gaze and had to turn her eyes away, dryly noting through her misery that the likeness was a little off.

They had not managed to capture the storm in his eyes. The fatal stain on the lake of passion and drowning sadness.

After questioning some of the guards sitting under shelter across the other side of the Saffron Bridge, Aeriel found her search drew her to the small chapel beside the ducal palace. Once everyone knew that they would have the day to themselves, the men took the horses away to be rubbed down and to go drink until the red light of morning with the other soldiers gathering within the city walls. She did not bother to strip herself of her riding leathers and began racing to the place she had been closing in on for the past three years, ever since she had heard news of the tragedy in Caergoth, from the battlefields of Fwuvoghor and the seas that lay between. Very quickly she outpaced the few men who had decided to accompany her and pay their own respects until she found herself upon the threshold between the physical and the unseen worlds. Every step she took grew heavier, leadened by the foreboding of what lay beyond.

In this dark and gloomy temple, once a proud symbol of Aenilic majesty in what was the proudest city in the north, lay his body. Aerywyn. Her dearest, baby brother.

Lady Aeriel Haerthorne (Dame of Arempos) [reply to sender] | [ignore]

Roleplay from Aeriel Haerthorne (just in) Message sent to everyone in "Magna Aenilia Ecclesia" (45 recipients)

As her mother and brother had sung it upon the death of Tirilyn and taught it to her, so too the words of that song clouded her mind and begged escape from her lungs. As she entered through the doorway the twin echoes of her voice and steps resounded through the cold heights of the gothic temple.

"...And so the rain kept on falling
Still a solitary mourner stands
Beneath the sorrowed eaves
Among the rotting autumn leaves
And watches over you..."

The smell of the rain and garden outside came in with her, filtering with the musty taste of death trying to escape from within. Under her feet ran a dark red carpet, almost black, bloody, in the poor light filtering through the few stained glass windows depicting scenes of bravery and revelations from days gone by. It ran to the dias at the far end of the temple, lit by the silent vigil of long candles whose dark, swirling trails of smoke rose to the arches of the roof above.

Upon the dias sat the casket where, beneath, was her brother's resting place. Buried in the soil he had conquered and made his own. On top was another statue of him, although this had far greater attention paid to it than had the previous one in the open, lying down in full armour and with a sword resting in his clasp, his eyes closed forever. All was stone except for the sword itself and the dying flowers which surrounded his sleeping head. Her own eyes were misting and the song was getting weaker as she continued, yet she still stood aside as if she still could not believe what this burial place meant.

"All the flowers laid
Have long since bowed their heads
And all the wailing women
No longer cast their cries
And all who once wore black
Have returned to their lives
Yet the mourner has not
Forgotten
And will stand that way forever

If I am the mourner
Who shall know my name?
Who shall ever know my pain?"

At that last word her quiet voice faltered and she paused. With a shaking hand she tried to rub her throat and, so she might not lose herself entirely, draw apart the knots of emotion choking her. Unsteadily she leant closer to the stone casket, but she was light headed and woozy from the stale, dusty aroma of death it seemed to give off and half-fell upon the prone statue of Aerywyn. Her hand was resting across his chest, which then instinctively grabbed vainly at his hands wrapped around the sword, seeking the warmth of has reaffirming touch. She swore she could hear a morose droning in the emptiness of the church, as if the silence was straining under its own weight. Part of her wished to cover her ears from it, whilst another part of her was mourning the youth of the poor young girl lying on her poor brother's tomb. She had to finish the song. Just as he was born and now dead, so too must the words reach the end of the cycle.

"A solitary mourner stands
to watch over you..."

A tear fell upon a hard, unyielding grey eyelid, and the soft sound of a woman weeping could be heard in the temple eaves.

Lady Aeriel Haerthorne (Dame of Arempos)