Haruun Kal's Open Terrain

Just as the sun kissed the horizon, the funeral rites began. Typically, only those who grieved a loved one came to witness, but today, all of Abyssos had come to mourn.

Just as the Priestess had told Karnac in the Sanctum, the five women had taken their places upon the arcane circle at each point upon its star. A pentacle, and those they had lost were placed within the center. The Priestess began, speaking to everyone gathered. Her hood was raised now, allowing the focus to be where needed. She articulated with confidence and conviction, as she did with all other rites, poised like the holy leader she was to Abyssos. Once she had uttered her final words, acknowledging the grief and pain shared by those who came, the Priestess turned to the circle's heart, where the bodies lay covered.

Magicks stirred in the air as the Priestess began the rite. Like a bubble that stretched around all who gathered, they enveloped Abyssos. Magicks sparked, burning the fresh herbs piled along the circle's lines and scattered throughout its heart. Where one might have expected the smell of flesh and hair, burning their wretched odors, they were met with a warm and rich aroma that soothed the heavy aches rattling one's bones and tearing apart one's chest and heart.

The Priestess's role soon came to a close. With her final uttered word, the gentle embers reached the covered corpses, alighting their bodies with this holy fire sparked by the Priestess's magicks. There was hardly a beat, and the Archivist picked up, speaking her piece. She spoke of her desire for the dead to impart their knowledge to the Force, to allow It to work through another, to continue the circle of learning and growth. The flames ate away at the cloth and that which it covered, but the light appeared choked out by the lingering twilight, the shadows too strong now.

The smoke began its steady ascension into the sky. Still, the Chirurgeon—Lady Khira—took the lead, which her mother had performed time and time again. She appeared stressed earlier, but that woman was nowhere to be seen now. She uttered her words with quiet confidence, encouraging that those gathered today would find healing, that those who lay beneath the cloth no longer suffer, and that with their final moments, the cycle would continue—death to life unto death once more.

Lady Chroma took up the torch, and despite the youthful tone, the youngling was clearly the heir of a Matriarch with her conviction and spirit. As she spoke her practiced piece, the smoke appeared to dissipate mere feet into the sky before disappearing entirely. Ashes rose and floated back to the earth. Within the twilight hiding the fire's light and the spell concealing its smoke, this rite offered no beacon to an outsider, even as night pressed closer. They remained hidden even among the smoldering flames.

Once the young Arkanian had finished speaking, there was the briefest pause. Pandæmonium, who had been asked to fill this role unpracticed and unready, took in that beat. The eyes of the four looked to her past the wavering, burning air and did not stare down at her with fierce punishment or arrogant scolding. Instead, she was met with the quiet gazes of encouragement and assurance that could ignite the fires of anyone's heart.

Pandæmonium voiced her piece, although not as confidently as the others at first. But she spoke, spoke over those departed while thinking of Nerra. Spoke to Abyssos, her eyes flickering to her men gathered. The more her words poured out, the more the magicks worked through her and urged her to continue. Pandæmonium didn't know why, but she found herself pleading with those now gone to guard Abyssos through the living Force, to offer protection for the future tribulations they were to face. Her mind had wanted to see the Council suffering in the deepest levels of Chaos, not raising shields for those of the living. However, no matter how much she tried to focus on that despicable thought, a serenity not of her own making washed over her like a crashing wave.

By the end of her speech, Pandæmonium felt warmth rolling down her cheeks, but she didn't know why she wept. Her voice hadn't cracked, her chest hadn't burned, and her lungs weren't tight. And she stood tall, strong—stronger than she ever had during her time on Haruun Kal. The Priestess would later laugh and explain, simply, that a part of her healed and would continue to if only she continued to be brave enough as she was tonight.

The Priestess concluded the rites as the fires faded from licking tendrils of reds and yellows to nothing more than glowing embers beneath fine ashes. By morning, the ritual circle would be gone, the earth below appearing untouched.

It was either expert timing by the Priestess or the very will of the Force. There was a beat of silence, the rite concluding, a moment for everyone to take in that final breath and utter their silent prayers. The village then alit with the faint glow of Sith Magicks. Some of Abyssos lingered by the circle as if they needed a few extra moments to mourn, while others clapped each other on their shoulders or embraced each other tightly before heading back into the village.

Pandæmonium was soon joined by her men -- Jaxon, Kalishir, and Sirrok -- where she stood. The Priestess uttered quiet condolences to others still gathered but kept her eyes peeled for Karnac and his men. Lady Chroma had rushed back to her mother's side but kept glancing about as if looking for the same group as the Priestess. The Chirurgeon hadn't lingered, her figure disappearing amongst the crowd who headed back into the village. Nonetheless, some kept their eyes open for the outsiders, not to shame or shoo them from these rites, but to speak with them if they wished. If they had decided to come.