Silkfield Keep <Silkfield>

A thirty-foot-high curtain wall forms the outer barrier of this open-air keep, which has at its center a thick cylindrical turret that rises about fifty feet, with wooden catwalks extending from tower archways to the battlements.
Around the tower are clustered a series of structures, from servant quarters to a stable for the array of fine horses normally found here. A portcullis entrance opens onto the estate grounds, while a second portcullis can be lowered to block the archway that leads into the inner bailey.

Jurus Seamel strolls into the Courtyard, moving to stand towards the front of the gathering crowd, a solemn look on his face.

Mullis Seamel walks into the keep from the Height, left hand resting on the hilt of the saber slung in a yellow-wrapped scabbard at his side. His Bladesman armor clanks lightly with each thumping step as he walks over and joins the crowd gathering before Jurus.

One figure stands alone on top of the dias and before the pyre, a small Shadowscourge with her hands clasped before her. She watches people filter in, motionless.

Jurus Seamel sets his hand on the top of the sabre hilt, gazing up at the pyre, and the form laying atop it.

Arkadia steps in from the receiving hall area and stifles a sob at the sight of the pyre. The young woman's right hand goes to her mouth while the other holds the six-month-old infant she carries. The little girl is also dressed in yellow, but she seems oblivious to what is going on as she happily gurgles and looks, bright-eyed, over her mother's shoulder toward the Keep.

Mullis Seamel shifts his eyes toward the arriving Arkadia, with the infant in her arms. His eyes narrow a bit, and a scowl forms on his face, but then he sighs and turns his attention back to the ceremony beginning on the dais.

The single Scourge on the dias remains quite still until some signal known only to herself: the arriving crowd continues to trickle in raggedly, low whispers continue to raise a murmurous noise to fill the curtain wall. Rather suddenly she unclasps her hands and lifts them, mail gauntlets gleaming in the bright flare of the setting sun. "My Lords and Ladies!" she calls, her soft voice taut as it tries and suceeds to reach the very corners of the courtyard, "On behalf of the honoured Lord and Bladesman Jafron Seamel, I welcome you to this space of light."

Jurus Seamel ignores Arkadia, for the time, though his eyes do travel towards Mullis, and he offers a nod of greeting, before quickly gazing up at the top of the platform as Raychel starts the ceremony.

Another sob escapes Arkadia at the mention of Jafron's name. She keeps her hand pressed over her mouth to try to muffle the noise, but there is no stopping the tears that begin to stream from her already swollen eyes. The baby shifts to look toward the voice at the pyre, twisting her head.

The Scourge continues to hold her hands upraised. Light glints and sparkles along her armour, and the beginnings of sunset stain her pristine cotton skirt a soft peach. "Lords and Ladies!" she says, her voice less strained as the crowd quiets vaguely, "we gather this evening for a triple purpose: we come to mourn the Jafron Seamel, for he will be missed as a fighter and as a man. We come to aid him in his passage back to the Light, to which he returns in blood and glory after years of our successful defense. And we come to celebrate his return to the Light, and to celebrate that Light which continues to surround us." Suhaylah and Duhnan Seamel enter slightly late, together astride one horse which is quickly whisked off to the stables by a vassal. Suhaylah is slightly sweaty though her expression is properly decorous, and road dust clings to the hem of her plain mourning gown.

Subhan Lomasa slips onto one of the benches on the dais quietly, not wanting to interrupt the proceedings.

Jurus Seamel rests both hands on his sabre hilt now, as he watches the small Scourge as she continues to lead the ceremony. His gaze is intently focussed now, no longer flicking between the late arrivals.

Zurhael Zahir stealthy has a seat on a bench, hands folded.

Duhnen Seamel walks quietly at the side of his mother, eyes sweeping over the gathered crowd. He also takes a seat with her, folding his hands on his lap, face expressionless.

Arkadia, dressed in a plain cotton gown of yellow befitting her station, takes a half-step back toward the door to the receiving hall when she's unable to completely stifle her grieving sobs. Even the six-month-old girl leaning on her shoulder in the crook of her arm is beginning to be affected by her mother's sadness.

Entering from the main courtyard of the keep is Lucius Nepos, Warmaster of Vozhdya dressed in a yellow robe of mourning. His features are creased into something like a small frown, and his hands rest behind his back. In a slow manner, the soldier makes his way to a place on the benches next to another commoner.

"Divine Light is the desired state!" Raychel barks, her voice cutting into the soft dying of her previous words with a sharp, cutting edge. "The Light births us, and it is to the Light we return. This twilight existance is a struggle to us all. Still, we mourn those who pass upwards, and with this we mean no stain upon Jafron's Lighted state." Her hands remain up and outstretched, peach light glinting slightly darker as the golden disk of the sun continues to sink, flattening, into the horizon.

Suhaylah Seamel is quiet in mounting the dias and quiet when folding her hands across her lap. She watches the Shadowscourge, but watches more the pyre behind.

Mullis Seamel lifts his chin, listening to the words of the Shadowscourge.

Duhnen Seamel lowers his eyes to his hands for a moment as he listens, before looking back up to the Shadowscourge, nodding his head slightly.

Subhan Lomasa sits upright, attentive to her cousin as she leads the service. Every so often her head nods in agreement with a point. Her hands are kept neatly tangled together on her lap and she remains fairly motionless as the sun sets and the evening wears on.

With his eyes moving fairly quickly between the Scourge and the pyre, Jurus gazes intently at both, the solemn expression still on his face.

Frown everpresent, Lucius finds an uncomfortable position squished in beetween to weepy ladies, evidentally servants of Jafron Seamel. He sighs lightly and turns his forest green eyes towards the Shadowscourge. He clenches his jaw tightly.

The Shadowscourge lowers her hands finally and raises her head, her eyes steadily looking past the crowd and towards the sun from within the face-slit of her gleaming steel helm. Quieter now, native softness creeping back into her voice, Raychel says, "In mourning we are united now, both for the man himself and for the fearless warrior who defended our homes and our lands, who stood shoulder to shoulder with us and steadfastld kept us from peril. In shared truth is darkness banished. Let us share the truth of our joy, and the truth of our mourning."

Suhaylah Seamel drops her eyes into her lap, fixing them perhaps on her hands which fold together with fingers tight entwined.

Jurus Seamel moves his own eyes to rest on the pyre now, his jaw clenching, while his lips press tightly together.

His eyes moving briefly from Raychel to the crowd, Duhnen seems to be searching for a moment, before next looking to the pyre, mouth twisting into a small frown.

Zurhael Zahir furrows his brow as he sits there. He looks a bit thoughtful, but a little bit more bored.

Lucius Nepos's frown evens out, with some time. He pulls his yellow robe slightly more over his left shoulder, fastening it with a cloth knot. His eyes, much like Duhnen's, drift to the pyre - however, he nods with satisfaction. Live by the Light, die by the Light, ascend by the Light.

Subhan Lomasa doesn't seem visibly moved one way or the other by the service, not having known the man in question, but she does sigh some, looking around at the other nobles to gauge their reactions before returning her attention back to her cousin.

The Shadowscourge Raychel Lomasa stands still for a moment, letting her last words die away. Strawberry and watermelon shades stain the rapidly darkening sky in front of her and reflect across her armor, which begins as well to reflect the hundreds of pinpoint lights from candles set up across the courtyard. She tolerates a moment or two of sighing and rustling, and then she says loudly and clearly, "The Order of Shadow Scourges mourns the passage of Jafron Seamel!" As one, the nine shadowscourges standing around the dias unsheath their whips together with a crack that sounds like a lightningstrike. "The Blade Jafron fought valiantly against the Shadow from Without, and was thus comrade to we who fight it from within."

The Aegis Guardian, Mullis Seamel, uncle of the deceased, stands still and stoic as a boulder firmly planted in a shallow river. Over the years that have etched his face in grimness and recalcitrance, he has likely seen many Bladesmen fall in service to one fate or another. More than a few may have been kin. The yellow velvet wrapped around his scabbard is well-worn.

Without the slightest change in his facial expression, Jurus raises one hand to touch the brutal scarring on his neck, as the whips crack as one.

Eyes snapping like the whips, Duhnen's gaze jumps to the Scourges and their salute, then lowers his head slightly and utters a quiet prayer, eyes closing.

Zurhael Zahir cracks a gauntleted knuckle. Crack. His gaze remains trained on the Scourges.

Lucius regards the strange ceremony with a satisfied nod - he has obviously been to a noble warrior's funeral before, probably a Blade. He finds his hands drifting around the bench, and clenches his fists at his side to stop their movement.

Subhan Lomasa jumps at the crack of the whips, even though she is close enough to have seen it coming, or perhaps it is just this proximity that has startled here. Whatever the reason, her right hand comes up to fan her face lightly afterwards, a flush rising to her cheeks.

Another whipcrack punctuates Raychel Lomasa's words, and then the Scourges again stand still with sheathed weapons. There is only a small pause before the central Scourge reaches up to remove her helm, wisps of her braided brown hair stuck to the armour-bidden sweat on her forehead and neck. She squints slightly into the last golden sliver of sun, and she says in a voice still loud, "I, Raychel Lomasa, mourn Jafron Seamel the Blade and Jafron Seamel the man. I fought in the wildling attack which brought about this step towards the final Light and he beside me and at my back. Jafron I never knew to speak to, but he had a strong and steady sword arm and he was valiant in my defense! For that I will remember him," she says, intoning the final words with a face that is perhaps not as expressionless as she would like. Then she makes the ritual challenge: "Will any others speak their truths? Will any others come forward with words from Jafron's life?"

Mullis Seamel takes a step forward, raising a gauntleted hand. "I would speak."

Jurus Seamel clamps his jaw tighter at the request, squeezing his sword hilt, before taking a step forward right after Mullis. "I would speak as well."

Raychel lifts her helm and sets it back on, obscuring her expression, before she nods to Mullis. "Light Jafron's path," she says, bidding him start.

Duhnen Seamel looks to Mullis as the man steps up to speak, tensing slightly as if preparing himself for something.

Lucius Nepos shifts his wandering green gaze towards Mullis as he speaks, and then towards the younger Seamel as well, Jurus. He nods once more in approval.

The Aegis Guardian takes a step up onto the dais, then turns to face the crowd. He nods curtly to Jurus, then to Raychel. "Thank you, m'lady," he says. His hand settles on the hilt of his sabre once more. "I'm not much of a talker. But I'm Mullis Seamel. Jafron, he nephew. I did the best I could with him. I...know I wasn't always there. Couldn't always be. I regret that." His eyes drift once more to Arkadia. "But I know for sure he wasn't meant to die like this. He was meant to die an old man, in his bed, in the tower of this keep. And he would've, if some damned woman hadn't bewitched him!" He points a gauntleted finger at Arkadia. "You drove him back to the wall, scullery girl! You got him killed!"

Subhan Lomasa's eyes widen and she gasps, turning instinctively to follow the pointed finger, then turning back again, seeming in a struggle between curiosity and horror.

Zurhael Zahir's face lights up at the accusation. "Finally, something interesting," he whispers to himself.

Tensed muscles react all at once, causing Duhnen to stand from his seat, his eyes looking to Arkadia with an expression of bewilderment on his face.

Lucius Nepos quickly glances towards Arkadia, dark eyebrows knitting inwardly and the frown once more peeking at his lips. This is accompanied by the gasps of the two weeping women next to him, who stop their crying for a moment to observe what develops.

Arkadia looks up, her griefstricken face wet with new tears. Blankly, the woman blinks at Mullis and protectively cradles her baby in her arms.

Jurus Seamel blinks once, his face contorting into a pained expression as Mullis makes his accusation. His gaze flashes between Arkadia and Mullis, as if waiting to see what happens next.

The armoured Shadowscourge stands still for a moment, facing Mullis, frozen perhaps in shock or perhaps not. Her eyes narrow, and when she finds her voice she says loud over the hubbub of the crowd, "You claim death by Shadow, Lord," she says, "this is a serious accusation. In the Light of this holy place, do you charge someone thus?"

Suhaylah Seamel's hands close more tightly together, and she keeps her head facing downwards. HEr neck and shoulders are stiff, screaming with tension.

Duhnen Seamel tears his eyes away from the developing scene to look at his mother with concern. He places a hand gently on her shoulder, leaning down to whisper to her.

The infant in Arkadia's arms begins to cry at the hubbub, little face contorting about her hooked Seamel nose.

Jurus Seamel glances quickly between Mullis, Rachel, Suhaylah, and then to five silver armored Guardsman who have appeared at Arkadia's side. He gives them a brief headshake, staying them from further movement for the moment.

Suhaylah Seamel's head nods slightly in response to her son's query, though she remains looking fixedly downwards. After a moment she lifts her own hand and places it stop his, on her shoulder, with a light pat.

Mullis Seamel opens his grimacing mouth to speak, then closes it, looking back toward Raychel. "I..." he begins. He looks back at Arkadia, thick brows knitting deeply. "No, I don't claim death by Shadow. I claim death by stupid, mindless infatuation." He looks toward the body on the pyre. Then he stares blankly at the dais, shaking his head. His attention slowly drifts back to Arkadia. "The young don't listen to the wisdom of their elders. And even the lowliest woman can employ ample wiles to snare a simple-minded young man. So, no. The Shadow didn't kill him. Her damned thighs did, truth be told. And that's all I want to say about it." He glances back to the crowd, then to the Shadowscourge. "Keep in the Light." Down he steps from the dais, scowling as he moves through the crowd.

Something clicks in Lucius Nepos's head. Perhaps this women is why Jafron was so cold when he last met him, so annoyed. Lucius makes his mind up, narrowing his eyes at the woman and clenching his fists even harder. His slight frown, however, levels out once more into a blank expression.

"Uncle of Jafron Seamel, Lord Mullis Seamel," the small Shadowscourge snaps, her voice rough with evident anger, "Supposed protector of he who has passed above. You weigh your memories of Shadow and darkness when speaking of Jafron. Do you, Lord, have any words of Light and joy to share with those assembled to ease your nephew's passage to the Light, or do you forsake him on this last path he will tread?"

Zurhael Zahir tries *incredibly* hard to stifle a grin, eventually hiding his mouth with a gauntleted hand.

Mullis Seamel stops, turning to look back at the Shadowscourge and the pyre. "He could have been a good man. He could have been a fine leader. Now, he's dead. Can't think of anything cheerful to drag out of any of this. Not a thing. And it's not like I didn't warn the lad about the path he was on." His face sets stonily. "So, if I say anything all warm and sunny, it's this: He followed his heart. He served Fastheld proudly on the wall. He died fighting for his men. Good on him, yes?" He turns, stalking away, armor clanking as his hand rests on the scabbard with the well-worn yellow velvet wrapping. "Good on him," he grumbles.

Raychel Lomasa does not wait for Mullis' grumbling to continue. Instead her voice slices out into the ambient candlelight. "Lord Jurus Seamel, speak your truth," she calls.

Jurus steps up onto the dias, a slightly disturbed look on his face as he gazes out over the crowd. "I, Jurus Seamel, mourn my dearest cousin, Jafron... I was poisonned by a Wildling several months ago, while on the Aegis... As soon as word reached Jafron, he rode out to be by my side. I firmly believe that it is because of that that I was able to fight off the fever, and return to my service to the Emperor." He glances back towards Raychel, and then moves back to his standing in front at the front of the crowd.

Arkadia begins to take steps forward, swallowing past a thick lump in her throat.

"Will any others speak their truths in the Light," Raychel Lomasa demands, and perhaps within the dusk of her helm-slit her eyes are watching Arkadia.

Duhnen Seamel looks back up from his mother to Mullis, sighing lightly. He spares another glance to Arkadia, before listening to Jurus speak. As the Bladesman finishes, and Raychel makes her call, Duhnen steps forward, "I would say a few words about my cousin."

Lucius Nepos shrugs lightly to himself, and whatever negative thoughts he may have been thinking previously exit his system, his eyes refocusing and then changing direction, now pointed towards Jurus and then Duhnen. He tightens his robe, slightly and then cracks his knuckles. A bit too loud. This attracts the annoyed glances of several funeral-goers, to whom Lucius offers a conciliatory smile to.

"Speak your truth before the Light," Raychel tells Duhnen plainly. Her voice is somewhat calmer.

Suhaylah Seamel uncurls her neck, slowly, and one by one untangles her fingers. She lifts her head last, her palms sitting flat against her thighs with some rigidity and her mouth stiff, and manages a slight smile at her son.

The assembled group includes Raychel Lomasa, who stands on the dias before Jafron's unlit pyre, and Duhnen Seamel, who is stepping forward towards the scourge.

Duhnen Seamel clears his throat lightly as he glances to the pyre, turning about to address the crowd. "The last time I layed eyes on my cousin was when I was but a boy. Yet I remember him clearly. He was a confident man, dilligent in his duties." Duhnen sighs lightly as he turns to glance again at the pyre. "I regret that I never knew him more, as a man. But I am comforted that he has found peace." He looks to Jurus and nods to his cousin, before stepping away, mouth tight.

The ceremony is partway through, with the Shadowscourge Raychel Lomasa standing before the pyre and Duhnen Seamel walking back to his seat.

Arkadia eases forward a little more, but gives a sorrowful look to Mullis. It's not a look of hate, tis more a look of pity. Arkadia says, "I'll speak, if I'm allowed."

"Do any others," Raychel Lomasa says in a ringing voice, "wish to ease Lord Jafron on his journey with their Light?" She is paused a moment, but then nods to Arkadia.

Arkadia's mouth quivers as she begins to get her tears under control, but the little girl in her arms is still a bit fussy and confused. "Good on him," she quietly agrees. "When I fairst came ta Silkfield, I thought twas a dark and ugly place. If any buildin' could be said ta grieve, then this is the one. Jafron Seamel was as bleak and broodin' as his house. I sought ta be bringin' some Light into the place and into his dull heart. I niver meant ta be fallin' in love with 'im. I niver meant fer 'im ta do the same. It jist happened. And we were happy. There wuz Light in this cursed place. Laughter. Lord Mullis niver liked the change in Jafron, though his nephew was -happy-. Jafron wanted ta give up his place and take me ta wife, but I didna let 'im. I loved 'im too mich ta let him do sich a fool thing when I knew that his uncle would niver forgive 'im. Jafron was the husband of me heart. Lord Mullis kin 'old a grudge agin me for all my life, if'n he wants, but his nephew was the kind a man a which songs 'r sung and stories 'r wrote. He was a good man with a true heart and loyalty. In me heart, he wuz me husband and there'll niver be anither like him in this life."

Suhaylah Seamel glances up at Duhnen with dark eyes and smiles again, somewhat more freely.

Orell Mikin leaves his horse in the hands of his guards who are waiting at the far end of the space, and then walks to the noble seating area, taking a seat and watches the proceedings.

"He was your husband in your heart," Raychel Lomasa says, her distaste in the words almost stifled, "do you have good to speak of his life?"

Solemn and silent as her armor will allow, Sister Laeria Mikin approaches the gathering to take a secured stance behind and to the left of her fellow Sister Scourge. The blonde teen's gauntlet-covered hands enfold behind the small of her back, clinking against chainmail; a mere vigilent presence of Church support for Raychel's funerary conduct.

Mullis Seamel grimaces at the words spoken by Arkadia. His eyes narrow, and for a moment his mouth opens as if he might retort with more of his colorful and inappropriate ramblings. Instead, however, his mouth clamps shut, and then he turns and stomps away from the crowd, armor clanking as he walks toward the archway leading out of the keep.

"Aye!" Arkadia says, looking to Raychel in frustration. "I jist said it!" Her tears are beginning anew. "None a ye truly knew 'im. Ye can judge me all ye like, but I'm the one that knew he was a gentle as he was fierce and as brave as he was broodin'. No one woulda fought harder ta protect someone in need, no matter their station. If that's not a hero, I don't know what be."

Duhnen Seamel smiles slightly at his mother as he takes his seat. The smile only rests there for a moment before he turns back to the proceedings.

The armoured church knight says tautly, her voice slightly strained, "do any others have words to share of Jafron Seamel's life?"

Suhaylah Seamel stands quickly, stepping forward once and nodding. "I would speak."

The Shadowscourge Raychel Lomasa nods to Suhaylah, and says, "Speak, then, and aid Jafron Seamel's passage."

Duhnen Seamel looks to his mother as she stands, paying all of his attention to her as she prepares to talk.

Lucius Nepos stands near the end of one of the common 'rows', dressed in a yellow mourning robe. He is sandwiched beetween two weepy looking women, apparently former servants of the Lord Seamel.

Suhaylah Seamel steps forward towards the pyre and turns to face the assembled crowd. Her eyes are dark and the candlelight almost fails to pick her expression out of the shadow of her hair. "I knew Jafron since he was a child," she says, "in passing, as the distant cousin who lived in a keep not far from mine. I knew him as a young Blade, eager and headstrong, and I knew him as a man. Jafron was given many hard choices in his life, and in some he faltered. In the end, though, he chose the path of Light, and may he find that which he sought in that Light." She nods and then steps away from the space, working her way back to Duhnen.

Laeria's green swirled blue irises flicker from the Lomasa paladin to that of Suhaylah, adding a dip of her chin in acknowledgment to the woman's address. She readjusts her poised standing posture, rooting her steel-toed boots to the ground a shoulderwidth apart.

Zurhael Zahir's expression returns to normal, and he fixes his eyes on the speaker.

"Do any others wish to share the Light of Jafron's life with the assemblage?" Raychel asks yet again, strongly.

Sophia Mikin arrives late and therefore slips into the backrow bowing her head in respects.

Raychel Lomasa stands on the dias before the pyre, armed and armoured, addressing the crowd (OOC: look funeral decorations)

Aylora steps into the courtyard, yellow skirts swishing with each movement. Head bowed in reverence, she finds a place toward the back to listen to the proceedings.

"Will any others share their truths!?" the Shadowscourge says, her voice cutting through the crowd with a hint of gathering hoarseness.

Duhnen Seamel looks through the crowd silently, eyes occationally falling on a familiar face, though he doesnt aknowledge them for the moment.

Jurus Seamel keeps his lips pressed together, and his expression grim, his hands clamped tightly on his sabre hilt, as he watches the people speak their words. As each finishes, his eyes fall back to the Pyre.

Arkadia moves away from the pyre to the back and the entrance to the receiving hall. There, she pauses, tears streaming down her cheeks as she lightly pats and comforts her fussy baby girl.

"Will any others share the Light of Lord Bladesman Jafron Seamel's life?" Raychel calls for the last time, and waits only a handful of heartbeats before she says, more quietly, "Let us now return Jafron Seamel to the Light." The darkened courtyard is suddenly full of Shadowscourges, perhaps two dozen, who pour out of the Keep bearing birchbark and lit torches. Raychel awaits them, recieving a piece of birchbark which the Scourge touches with the torch until it blazes bright. She approaches the pyre as the Scourges continue to distribute birchbark.

Lucius Nepos's gaze shifts from the arrayed scourges, including Raychel, to the unlit pyre of Jafron Seamel, and then to Jurus Seamel, offering the last a respectful nod.

Aylora, spotting the woman and child she knows, weaves her way toward her, hands clasped before her. Once she reaches the woman, she sets a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder.

Suhaylah Seamel takes her piece of birchbark when the Scourge reaches her, holding it gently in weathered hands.

"Blood of Jafron," Raychel Lomasa intones, "friends of Jafron, Mourners of Jafron. Wellwishers. Those who would aid in Jafron's passage, approach him. She waits for all assembled to come up on the dias with their lit birchbark.

Duhnen Seamel stands again, silently taking the offered birchbark, looking at the fire. As he is called, he looks to his mother, waiting to move to the pyre with her.

Jurus Seamel looks away from the pyre, now that the Shadowscourges are distributing the wood. His eyes fall closed, briefly, before he turns to look out over the crowd again, returning Lucius' nod, and offering one of his own towards Aylora. Once he takes his piece, he moves back to the dias, lighting it carefully.

Suhaylah Seamel nods to Duhnen, and she steps forward with her son to aid in Jafron's last rites.

Arkadia dissolves into quiet sobs as the Scourges filter forth, but she remains standing where she is. Her grief leaves her helpless to further participate.

Subhan Lomasa stands, taking a piece of bark as it is handed to her, following along with the other nobles to do her part.

Aylora inclines her head to Jurus and curves her arm around Arkadia. She takes a piece of bark, one for each of them, then leads the mother and child to the pyre gently.

Sophia Mikin silently prayers silently at the same time moving towards the pyre taking a piece of the bark.

Orell Mikin stands up from his seat after collecting a birchbark from the Scourge, moving wordlessly towards the pyre.

When all are ringed around the pyre, standing close enough to smell the pungent herbs strewn atop it in this cooling night air, Raychel throws her birchbark high on the pile of wood and says, quietly, "Aid him to the Light."

Duhnen Seamel throws the lit wood on the pyre, quiet words of farewell on his lips as his piece gently arcs through the air.

Sister Laeria bobs her head, summer white-gold curls swaying across her jaw, as she graciously accepts a stalk of lit birchbark from one of a brown-haired Brother. "My thanks." She softly murmurs in a clogged light tone, her voice unaccustomed to speaking after such an elapsed quiet. With the 'torch' in hand, the paladin of Holy Mother Church steps forward and sets a portion of the pyre alight before also tossing the bark into the wood.

The last one to throw his birchbark on the pyre is Lucius Nepos, who was waiting in the 'lineup'. He offers one final glance to the man and closes his eyes.

Suhaylah Seamel throws her birchbark gently onto the last restingplace of Jafron Seamel, her face graven deep with her age.

Jurus Seamel adds his piece, murmuring softly, "Goodbye, dear Cousin."

Aylora has her bark lit and she raises it slightly before throwing it into the fire and turning away.

Subhan Lomasa waits until family and friends have taken their turn to throw their birch bark on the pyre before seeming to take a moment in silent prayer and add hers along with them.

Fragrant oils catch first under the assault of so many flames, licking up in bright blue and green streamers which are soon overpowered by brighter yellow light as the wood itself catches. Smoky sweetness pours low over the courtyard, drifting heavy along the ground to the east. Soon the wood begins to crackle merrily, sizzling as the heat consumes Jafron Seamel's remains. Raychel stands and watches this until the heat on the dias becomes intense, and then she says, "friends and family will tend this fire for three days, until Jafron has found his path to the Light. Let us now celebrate his return to brightness with feast and merriment, in the name of Jafron Seamel."

Orell Mikin lights his birchbark with a torch, and then throws the piece of lighted bitchbark onto the wood, "To the Light, my friend, " his teeth clenched as he looks upon the body, as if storing it away for his memory, before looking away with a finality, blinking slightly.

Jurus Seamel watches as the fire starts its consuming of the body, before he turns, leading the way into the keep, and the feast laid out within.

Having no torch, the Warmaster stands by the fire and stares deeply into it. "To the Light." He mirrors, in agreement with Orell.

You paged Arkadia with 'Or sitting in the nice, rotsafe kitchen, as the case may be.'

"Travel fast, Jafron," Suhaylah Seamel says quietly to the fire, "and find in the Light what you sought in the approval of flesh."

Duhnen Seamel stands quietly, watching the pyre burn merrily. A thoughtful expression crosses over his face, his normal cheerful features muted.

Aylora continues to stand with Arkadia, her face placid but her eyes filled with stoney grief.

Raychel Lomasa steps back off the dias and begins to walk towards the Keep and the repast within. The nine Shadowscourges around the dias break their stillness, snapping their whips together once in another loud crack of sound, and then they disperse to tend the fire while Jurus attends his feast.

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