We'll Decorate Those Poor Bastards' Graves

Ripping out one’s own heart with the intentions of becoming a monster… no that didn’t sound peaceful at all. It was troubling that anyone would seek the become a monster, but of course no one ever did. Monsters were not made overnight; it took time to slip down into greed or despair, but each precipice, once lost, was all but unsalable. Miri gave the old orc a brief smile and told herself to look into that later. “True redemption comes from personal atonement. If you would like to discuss the matter further, perhaps when we are free to share a private conversation, I’m hopeful we’ll find a bit of peace for you and your heavy thoughts, Orc Kuz.” Miri had an indisputable talent for helping others achieve some semblance of peace, all but those actively raging or set on a path of destruction. Kuz, however, was a well known townee. She laid a gentle hand on Kuz’ forearm to comfort him even as she turned to smile at the red haired Mermanish.

“Master Morkplok, I’m happy to see your enthusiasm for committing to projects you know nothing about is as infectious as ever. The children inside the temple will show you all you need to know of weaving….” Miri looked out at the horizon and decided it may be early still for the children to have reported to their tasks for the day and many of them no doubt had pressing family chores that would need to be finished before they were released for service to the temple. The funeral was planned for the late afternoon so there was plenty of time yet.

“Well, it may yet be early for the children. Come Morkplok, I will myself show you the basics of weaving. It’s no more difficult than braiding hair, though perhaps that talent is unknown to you as well. Kuz, we could use your strength with the heavier pieces if you’re available?” She was about to corral the two of them into service; the temple never turned away free labor; when Tei'ron arrived. Miri did not know him by name or sight and had not seen him approach from the direction of the graves being shaped up. She did recognize him as Elf immediately and even had she not his greeting would have given it away.

“Dridione’s blessings be to you, Sir.” Miri greeted Tei'ron in the common tongue, knowing how divisive private or uncommon languages could be. She also harbored ill-feelings for portions of her Elven heritage which was something she was working on with the careful application of poultices and the consumption of teas steeped in special mushrooms and certain fungal concentrates. Don’t judge; her goddess approved of self medicating.

“What brings you to Warfall this fine morning? Did you by chance hear the announcement of our Cryer?” Miri was fidgeting with the corner of the small book in her hands. She did fine with small and large groups of people, but she had issues with the number four when it pertained to the member count of any particular gathering. She knew that idiosyncrasy of hers was another area that required work and she told herself to look into that later.

She decided to again rely on the coping mechanisms which had helped her in the past. She looked around the street for someone, anyone, to bring into the fold. She spotted tall Alto, but his face was new to her as well. Without thinking it over she beckoned towards Alto even though his strange mask and tattoos gave her pause. “No no, that’s much too far away. Come stand over here with the four of us so that we’ll be five. Yes, five is a much more peaceful, divine number. Come come.”

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