Ivan held tight to Myrn's hand as Meeda appeared from the closed wagon, the wrapped bundle of Tila's body in his arms. Layla, his wife, did not join him, but there was a pointed statement in what the man wore that played darkly off the woman's whimpers coming from inside the funeral wagon. Dark leathers, in shades of gray, brown, and green covered the man. Belts festooned the design of the outfit having space upon them to display or safely contain glyphs, trinkets, potions, and weapons. A sword hung at his belt, and a small silver shield.
Meeda's face seemed to have aged. His orange hair had lost its luster though it looked clean and neat. He had it tied back tightly in a short ponytail that showed his graying hair. His brown eyes were reddened and his cheeks very damp. But he did not hesitate or falter as he came down the stairs from the back of the wagon and joined the rather large crowd who had come.
Meeda walked toward the small pyre built modestly high in the middle of the square. Myrn's grip trembled on Ivan's fingers. The strength of her grip was near to pain, but Ivan was sure his own grip was just as hard on her own fingers.
Azalea waited out in the open. Meeda had requested it. There had been some little talk between Ivan and Myrn's family when he returned and plans were announced to have the pyre. It was a usual tradition. Buried bodies so near a dungeon could be fed on, or worse show up as undead by one of many means. No one wanted to see that. So bodies were burned. That was always the way it had been.
A few people gaped at Azalea, but enough people had already seen her appear at Ivan side a few nights before that it was no real mystery. This was just a confirmation of the rumors now. His name too had been dispelled in those rumors. Thomas had seen to that, calling him out by name, and as if by magic clearing people's memories. People had begun to recognize Ivan now, and that in part had been what brought Ivan to seek solitude.
Meeda laid his eight year old daughter out upon the pyre with all the care and more one would expect from a father putting his sleeping little girl to bed. He even managed to smile as he kissed her covered face and carefully laid back her head.
“I miss you so much already, little one. We'll join you in time. In just a little time my precious girl.” Meeda whispered, but there was hardly a sound else to be heard. Just the hiss and crackle of torches, and the gentle squeaks of iron lanterns.
Normally, when Theadus and his worship had been accepted they would have had this ceremony in the light of day, but not now. From now on the people of Dentennek would have their funeral pyres late into the evening and under the light of the moon. Meeda had been the one to ask, but Azalea and Penelope had pushed Ivan forward with the new idea.
Now the people of Dentennek would summon a Pathfinder, the ancient and legendary guardians of spirits to watch over the burning of their dead. Azalea had been quick to explain that a properly trained Pathfinder such as herself now would be able to use something called a 'Soul Urn' to call to a lost spirit, and guide it home to Eternity. Ivan couldn't have thought of a better way to bring the people of Dentennek around on the topic of demons, or so thoroughly convince them that Istania's involvement with demons had been anything but benign.
Azalea strode forward, almost regal in her bearing though she was covered still in cloaks of blue gray ragged cloth. Her shape as the mirror image of her progenitor wasn't lost on some, who must have known, or once been treated by Tanya. Their gazes sometimes opened wide upon her as if surprised, and then flashed to Ivan. But those with senses enough to feel it quickly dropped their gazes from him.
He was... seething. Ivan had no true aura power yet allowing him true mastery over it as Myrn did, and while he remained in control of his actions there was no hiding his emotions from the sensitive while he stared at Tila's corpse. To some it might have looked like he was on fire. To others it must have been a terrible ominous feeling centered on his direction like a storm rolling in with cracks of thunder heard far off. To others still he might have given off a light separate from physical reality that gave literal color to his emotion for them to perceive.
Ivan wanted to think that he didn't care what they thought. But there were some reactions that made him glad. There were some reactions that came to him as tiny far away taps, telling him of the direction of their thoughts, and the position of their bodies at once. Ivan felt some of them, and felt them mirror his own feelings. He felt the rage grow in people who had enough. He felt loss and despair become hatred. Hatred grew dark and dangerous motivations.
Ivan could feel the people as they watched the man who had set aside a career that would have made him rich and powerful beyond the measure of any civilian lay the body of his little girl in a funeral pyre. They watched as he set down the responsibilities of a father with her there, next to her in the fire, as they came out with his tears. The friendly aura of the barkeep and excellent cook they had once known transformed slowly as they watched becoming harder, more focused, to the point that it felt as though looking upon him was to place an unseen knife against their skin.
The Owlfeather clan wasn't exactly known by everyone around the world for their adventurers, but they had always been close to that. Their names appeared in a lot of history books, certain members of their family appearing alongside a number of important heroes and gods who appeared just in the nick of time to turn the tide, or to upset some plot. Yet no one ever doubted that they knew their business. But they also didn't often live the longest of lives, or grow the biggest of families doing it.
Azalea approached Meeda calmly, touching his shoulder with a gaunt hand, and drew him away. With a motion of her hand she signaled the robed and hooded girls with oil from the edge of the crowd. They came forward, their auras filled with the uncertainty and pain of children dealing with the loss of their first friend. Marie sniffled and had to fight not to wipe at her nose as she worked, but the girl had been adamant about being part of the rite for her friend. Azalea instructed them, and guided them as they poured the scented and ritually purified oil over the wood, and then finally sent them back to their own waiting parents.
Azalea was about to speak when Mayor Fablehoof raised a hand.
“Wait just a moment.” He called, his resounding voice somewhat out of shape with his rotund stature calling attention to where he stood near the wagon.
He went to the rear of the wagon, and there offered a hand to Layla.
The poor woman looked as though she hadn't slept in days, and probably spent most of them crying. There were streaks of gray in her hair that was almost white, and that Ivan could not recall noticing before. She wore a silver veil and gown, both stylized from days long ago when plague and sickness had been common, but the enchanted items still had a subdued beauty about them. They were trimmed in black, an uncommon color for many, but the trim itself had ritual significance Ivan was able to understand. After a moment of taking in its design Ivan realized that the gown and veil would gather the excess energy of the wearer's own spell craft and gather it up to be expelled in a rather dark and destructive manner.
The realization startled Ivan, but he had little time to gape as Layla found her way to husband's side with a little help from the mayor. There she clung to his arm, still weeping, but murmured a goodbye to her daughter.
Azalea waited, the flames of her eye lights subdued by all the lantern light. After a time she spoke.
“If you would, everyone, please, turn out your lights and the lights in the nearby houses.” Azalea asked.
There was some muttering, and some half murmured questions about how some with burning torches were supposed to do that, but they figured it out eventually. Dark settled over the street, and the people, especially children, began to murmur in discomfort.
Azalea cast out her hand and struck the ground with the butt of her lantern pole. The great iron staff clanged into the stone with a resolute and clear sound just as everyone's eyes must have been adjusting to the moonlight. Her vicious spiked lantern, a hollow four post thing that looked like it weighed five kilos, blazed into a small inferno hanging from atop her staff, striking into the iron pole with a ringing clang.
The fire did not spread to the pyre, but it did cast her as the center of attention.
“I am Azalea, Pathfinder of Eternity, and Knight-Summon of my Lord and Master Ivan, Son of Nathaniel, adopted son of Istania. I stand before you having already fulfilled my sacred duty in walking the Hells with the spirit of the innocent whose body now lays cold upon the pyre we have built tonight.” She said, her voice resounding through her staff and the air in subtle waves of magic.
“Istania, may her soul rest in peace beyond the Gate, did not hide the fact of our existence, but by custom of the laws of the Pantheon did she keep active teaching of us to her high ranking clergy and the highest ranking of her following. Speak with your elders, and know my word to be true;”
Azalea waited a moment, casting her gaze about the crowd.
“Each and every god upon Ballenlight has deals and pacts with my kind. We are demons of both holy and unholy nature, guardians of spirits that descend from the mortal plane, given shape by the duty and regrets of those who have already left this life behind. We are ready to combat all manner of powers to defend the souls we safekeep. It is our duty, our pride, and our power to walk spirits to the gate of the everlasting life of Eternity, and upon that duty I swear to you all now that in that pursuit you will never face duplicity from my kind. Gather together with the body as I have left instruction, and though the pathfinder may not stand before you as I have you will know us by the flame that takes the body offered in your ritual. Rest and know that they will be safe on their journey to the afterlife. Do not worship us. Do not revere us as gods. We are not. It is our duty, and that duty is just. Whatever promises another deity may make it is not their power that will take the souls of your fallen to the gate, but that of my kind. The cost is paid by some of what is taken and reshaped for service, and for others a small gift of coin is all we require. Respect us, and we will respect you and your loved ones in turn.”
Azalea held her head high, and looked about the crowd as if waiting for someone to question her. There was some chatter as she finished speaking, but as she had prompted the elders of the community and few high ranking individuals left were confirming what she had said.
Poplianna was standing next to the mayor, and confirming what questions her great-great grandson had too for that matter. She was back in her robed witch illusion too, instead of being the near immortal triple spark caster of a young woman she really looked like no matter her age. She gave Ivan a brisk nod, and the mayor cast a single curious gaze his way, but nodded nonetheless.
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“That's it? That's your cost?” A young man shouted from somewhere in the back, obviously pointing to the stack of silver coins. He was shushed and cowed quickly, but Azalea turned to address him.
“The thirty silver is for the Judges, and is symbolic. Copper coins, be they just as precious to you, will serve the purpose. It is the investment of love and loss that is important. It is not always needed in the passing, as sometimes the Judges do not need to use their power to cleanse a soul. What coin there is to spare is saved for the soul who comes next, and for the rituals of those less fortunate.” Azalea answered.
“Simply do the ritual as instructed and we will come. You will know us by the strange ghostly nature of our flames, and the chill they produce before they burn flesh.” Azalea answered.
Several people raised their voices at once, and the resulting murmur made answering any questions impossible. Poplianna raised her hand, and snapped her fingers once.
Deafening silence crashed over the courtyard until the clear snap of her fingers removed the magic of her spell.
“Take heart and listen. What you see now marks the beginning of a new age. The seemingly simple magic you have been given is more precious than you know. To summon and call upon the pathfinders, to give them a true anchor for the souls of your loved ones is a gift more precious than you could imagine. If you had any sense in your heads you would know that already seeing as before this point it took the gods themselves to reach out and contact the pathfinders. What Ivan, the boy who would have been the Hero and Champion of Istania brings us is salvation without worship. A safe path to Eternity for our loved ones free of service, oaths, or tolerance of oversight.” Poplianna said in her old creaky witch voice.
The various groups of people murmured and settled. Azalea bowed at the waist to the senior adventurer, and began to raise when a last question was shouted by an unsettled person.
“Why don't you show us your face?”
Azalea paused, and slowly took her lantern pole in both hands before taking a deep breath. She looked at Ivan.
Ivan nodded to her.
“I am a new pathfinder. Created rather than born, and my image is borrowed as are all of my kind. My being was crafted from the leftover essence of another who has passed through the gate, though her memories remain in my mind to guide me.” Azalea answered.
Slowly she reached up and pulled back her hood. A number of people gasped and Ivan could only look upon her bared features for so long before looking away. Even then he had drawn several perceptive gazes as his emotions flared in response to that gaunt face.
“I have answered enough questions for now. Any others you may have when there is time away from this ceremony. I simply wanted you all to understand that I am here at the willing behest of Tila's parents, and doing as my duty dictates.” Azalea said, her chains and lantern rattling that seemed too large and to come from too many places.
The fun thing was that it wasn't an illusion. Azalea was partly reaching into the Hells with her magic, and creating a purified ritual conduit. Ivan could sense its structure and began to understand how similar structures to the pathfinders magic might be used to violently rip the stolen or artificial soul masses from undead in a vastly different ritual. Possibly even constructs, conjurations, or dungeon creatures too Ivan realized with a sudden burst of insight.
With a less welcome realization he figured out his mind was trying to think of anything but the dead girl before him. The girl he had failed to save. He held tight to Myrn's hand all the same, trying not to give into despair or to fall to his knees and scream. He wanted to fall apart again, but he just didn't know what good it would do anyone. He wouldn't help these people, himself or Myrn doing that.
All that would help would be to get stronger.
He glanced up at Poplianna. The old witch met his gaze from under the too dense shadows of her hood. Ivan looked to the massive towering tree far down the long avenue. Poplianna looked over her shoulder, and though he couldn't see it he knew she was smiling as Ivan glared daggers at the Old Oak for a little time before returning his attention to the ritual.
He hadn't missed much.
Azalea had laid out the candles in the correct positions around the pyre, and lit them. One by one she put them out. Then she stepped back to the southernmost candle, her iron lantern pole striking the ground with each step, her chains rattling, and her Soul Urn collecting the smoke of the candles.
Everyone quieted as Azalea gathered her aura about her, focusing tightly around her lantern, making it ignite all the more. It was a blazing mass by the time she was ready, and yet the flames moved calmly, with slow ethereal grace.
“So be it that I, Pathfinder Azalea, commit these remains to rest. I take them now in fire marked by dark and light, and feared by all. That they may not be tampered with or used in magics high or low. Free what anchors remain to the spirit, but one that is willing. Free the spirit to choose the Gates or Damnation. With fire I commit this body to final rest, and bid you return her to earth with time that new life may grow!” Azalea chanted.
She cast out her hand, and the blue gray thread of fire seemed to almost turn silver in the moonlight. They gathered over the pyre, and caught it alight. The wood began to burn, but with slow moving fire that was nearly white. Azalea stood, lantern held high in one hand, and hand stretched out before her in the other with her hood still down.
Ivan watched what was once Tanya's gaunt form do the magic for a little while, and turned back to the pyre. There he watched the ghostly flames slowly consume wood and oil with none of the furious chewing noises of a typical bonfire. There was a strange and peaceful grace to the strange ghostly fire Azalea had sent forth. Tila's covering came apart, and so did her body, in tendrils of silver gray ash.
Myrn began to sob. Ivan watched too furious to do anything with the anger he had. All he could do was be amazed by the gentle working of magic Azalea was putting forth. There was no stink of burning flesh. No smell of ruptured bowels, or worse. Over the course of several minutes the pyre went up and was gone. Azalea nearly fell when it was done, but recovered seeming to just need to catch her breath.
Ivan was sure some were standing there who sensed it, but he began channeling mana into Azalea through Empower Summon to keep her upright. Even if it was just to save face Azalea cared about this, and Ivan would go the extra mile to see she did the best she could. The ability was somewhat costly, but Ivan could toggle it on or off as easily as he could move his conjured scroll about.
“There.” Azalea said, looking at the crowd.
She approached Meeda and Layla. Neither had moved very far from the flames, but both were unharmed. Layla's eyes were caught somewhere between complete despair and something like content, her aura feeling like she stood on a bridge that could lead to either, and which she had no desire to finish crossing either way.
“This...” Azalea began, looping the iron chains from her neck and extending her arm with the item in hand; “-is my Soul Urn. It is very precious to me, but it also contains your daughter's ashes and only her ashes for the time being. Please Mistress Layla Wildroot, Mister Meeda Owlfeather, transfer what remains into another urn for safe keeping, or choose a place where you feel best to return her to the earth. Either way you may return the Soul Urn to Ivan when you are done. I will entrust it to you until then.”
Layla took the urn with both hands and nodded. Her veil was wet with tears, and she held the urn to her chest as though it held Tila's spirit inside.
Ivan seethed and stared at the now empty stone plinth where the pyre had been built. Myrn clung to his arm. She begged the cool embrace of the Shroud from him after a time. Marvin, Andy, and Davian came to their side after some time. Azalea was answering questions, and genuinely being about as approachable as Tanya had ever been. Ivan appreciated that. It served Tanya's memory well. She would be proud of Azalea doing what she could to help people.
“What now?” Marvin asked.
He looked tired. To Ivan's Taps on the Web skill his thread was a fraying high tension iron wire. Andy too for that matter, his cord was just a lot thicker and a bit further from snapping.
Ivan didn't answer exactly, but he looked toward the Old Oak, and then he looked east. The Army of Light's camp would be out there somewhere. Not forever maybe, and maybe not even for long if Thomas had his way or if the Mayor's threats about all the adventurers from Dentennek coming home at his call. But it didn't matter.
Davian was nodding. His face was grim, and he kept looking at the open space in the square where the stones looked too clean and a little too glassy.
“I'm going to kill Theadus. And then that damned Fate. Or either way around. Whatever works.” Ivan growled, uneasily chuckling to himself in a way that made him want to hit something.
He needed to deal with both just as badly as the other, and it was a sour reality that pursuing either of them right now would just get him killed.
“Fate?” Andy asked.
“I'll explain.” Ivan said, but stopped to give Davian a curious look.
The Bard was practically standing on his toes. He had his mouth glued shut now, but it was like he wanted to scream. He was also pale in the face as if straining against the fear his curse put into him as well with his eyes flashing up toward the sky. And Ivan suddenly understood. Or understood part of it.
“Right. Maybe we talk about that in the dungeon?” Ivan asked.
Davian let out a ragged breath and nodded vigorously.
“Yes please. As far in as we can.”
The group took various amounts of time to process that, but eventually got it. Silence descended upon the group for a long moment, and gazes flickered toward the plinth, to Myrn's retreating Aunt and Uncle; and finally up to the Old Oak.
One by one they each turn a type of glare upon the massive tree, their aura's mixing together one by one in a fitful first attempt at real unity. They all had goals, and some might even overlap...and there was only one way to get them.
“For Tila.” Marvin said then, putting his hand into the middle of the group.
It was clear what he meant. Various looks passed between the group, but Myrn was the first to join hands with him in their center.
“For Tila.” She practically croaked. Her voice was worn out from crying.
“For Tila. For...my lost cousin, my aunt, and uncle.” Andy said, putting his hand forward, his face both pained and resolved.
“For Tila, and for you, my friends. I... I don't have anything more precious than four of you in this world.” Davian said, and put his hand forward. Thunder rumbled out over the ocean somewhere, but he hardly flinched.
Ivan stared at their hands. In his mind he saw Jen, Ral, Tanya, and even the Goddess ready to throw their hands in. He wasn't sure what kind of strange parallel world it would have to be for that to happen, but he wished he could have seen it.
“For Tila. For my squires, Jen and Ral; my adoptive mother and father, Melda and Julio, and the Goddess who would have shielded us all from all of this.” Ivan said aloud as he placed his hand out atop his friends.
His scroll flared into violent life as Marvin suddenly flared with ghostly silver flames.
Congratulations! You have sworn an Oath of Vengeance that was sealed by the words of several witnesses and forged into your flesh by a party member with the Forge Ember!
Your Knight Job has skipped the Adept Rank and moved to the Advanced Rank of Black Knight!
Congratulations! You are a Level 1 (of 20) Black Knight!
Information: Black Knight; A knight sworn to oath of revenge. Their skills differ from Knight of the Realm in many ways, but the focus on damage based martial skills and developing magic abilities is probably the largest among them. This job is closer to a berserker than a knight so expect lots of revenge type skills more than counters, and probably forget about shields if you haven't already.
Black Knight Level 1 Skill: Revenge: This skill doesn't prevent or remove the damage you take, but will do more damage the more hurt you are. It's cooldown resets each time you take any type of damage, and you will get a huge temporary boost to your recovery attribute every time you use this ability to kill an enemy that's damaged you. It costs relatively low mana and stamina compared to the damage you're taking but scales with cost as your damage, thereby your damage output, increases.
Black Knight Level 1 Perk: Oath Sworn (Minor Aura): As long as you're fighting with your oath sworn companions you gain a boost to all of your attributes and damage resistances! (This perk only applies to companions who share in the oath).
Black Knight Attribute Bonuses: Large gains per level to Strength and Endurance. Huge bonus to Recover Attribute per level. Moderate bonus to highest casting attribute per level; Highest Qualifying Attribute: Charisma.
Ivan felt the new job settle into him like a red hot molten suit of armor being pressed into his flesh. There was a moment when he couldn't breathe, and then the strength settled into him. -And then again as his new minor aura power settled over and into his friends.
Marvin was blinking his eyes clear, and likely trying to sort his thoughts. That was a pretty common reaction to dumping one's mana for the first time. Ivan thought for a moment he should be upset with him, but Marvin looked as surprised as anyone else.
“Guess we figured out one of your fundamental skills then eh Marvin?” Ivan asked, raising an eyebrow as he used a bit of will to turn his conjured scroll about.
Marvin read the scroll with bleary looking eyes, and they went wide with realization, and then wider still as he turned his gaze to Ivan, the Vengeance Sworn Black Knight.