You have been taken by the Mists

Author Topic: Body Count  (Read 667 times)

Naiad

  • Undead Slayer
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Body Count
« on: October 18, 2020, 05:26:11 PM »

Ophelia Bell awoke with the dawn just starting to crest over the waters of Vallaki's port. The dock district rising with the coming sun, as the sounds of birds and the calm waters clashed with the sailors getting their four-lettered vernacular back into full swing. She stretched, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. Her toes barely touched the floor as she skipped merrily into her morning routine. She ate, bathed, dressed, tried in vain to wake up Elás, then gave up and started the day. She pulled the final laces of her corset tight, stitching the last of herself together, and fumbled with the keys to her front doors. It was daybreak in Vallaki, which meant one thing; someone was dead. Each night brought Ophelia a new project, and she woke up every sunrise like Florette had taught her, with hope in her heart and a promise that every day was someone's last. Who would it be this time? She hadn't the faintest idea. That was the best part.

Perhaps it was a garda. She thought to herself as she passed the morning patrol. They did have a high mortality rate; it was one of their best qualities outside of cute accents and a penchant for bringing her charnel-house residents. Then again, it had been a long while since they had an execution. She was due for another witch, traitor, or whoever had to the misfortune of falling into some bad luck. She wouldn't mind if she went another season or two without another one. Executions were a steady line of work, but she didn't actively enjoy them. They lacked the apathy of an accident or the intimacy of a murder. It was just messy and pulled her into some dangerously emotional territory. No, if there must be something executed soon, then let it be already dead. She thought. Let it be the vroloks.

The thought of the vroloks slowed Ophelia's progression, from a happy hopping along the cobble to a slower, more pensive stride. They were still not-so-alive, and that was bothersome—especially Florette. What was the point of all the hope and friendship if she couldn't bury them afterward? Ophelia stopped herself and took a few mental steps back. She didn't want people to die; she simply saw it coming. It didn't stop her from enjoying them. Florette was kind, brave, and always trying to give people a reason for living. Ophelia liked those silly notions. Those stupidly heroic ideals that, while cute, would inevitably cause their lives to burn bright but fast. They were colorful flashes that she envied but collected in her ever-growing flock. Except. Florette. Florette had to run off and become something else entirely. Something that avoided Ophelia's comfortable arrangements. Part of her was angry. She wanted Florette; she wanted her quiet and asleep, and where she could keep her forever. The other part of her knew that wasn't healthy, and eventually, inevitably, everyone returned home. She didn't know which one to listen to, but thankfully for her, she didn't have to decide. Heros were everywhere in Vallaki. You couldn't overturn a rock without someone wanting to help. They would find Florette eventually, and with any hope, they would bring her home.

The graveyard was quiet and still asleep—the morning dew blanketing the graves. It brought a maternal smile to her lips as she scanned the grounds, checking for signs of anyone disturbing her keep. She found nothing but candles, flowers, and the occasional offering. She made a brief check that Flora had her usual flower and candle, then made her way to the Outskirts Sanctuary.

It was crowded, unexpectedly crowded. People shuffled together in groups murmuring to one another. She could hear a few words. Tragedy had struck, and someone or something was dead. There was dread hanging in the air among the chaos of bodies whispering gossip and news. There was mention of vampires and the Wayfarers. Her heart skipped a beat. Was today the day Florette returned? The look of stoic concern on the faces of the light carriers was a good sign. She doubled her pace and rounded the back of the sanctuary. There were several bodies she recognized in the temporary morgue, most of them wrapped and waiting for burial, except one.

It was new.
It was fresh.

It was not Florette.

Ophelia's heart began to sink into disappointment. Today was not the day. Death is patient. she reminded herself. There is always tomorrow, and besides, look on the bright side. Someone was still dead. She nodded to herself and started to roll up her sleeves. The duty continued, regardless of her opinions on the matter.

She moved towards the body to start her trade with the same passion but less joy in her dedication. That was until a familiar face suspended her fading enthusiasm. A new spark rose from the ashes of her disappointment, a different but not altogether unpleasant feeling—an unexpected surprise. She was not going to bury Florette today. But she nevertheless held the gates of the grave open for someone else. Giles Hawkings. Hero of Vallaki, notoriously dependable vrolok hunter and an all-around good catch. She hadn't suspected his time would come so soon, but since it had...well. Today was going to be a pretty good day.
Ophelia Bell: Your friendly Neighborhood Grave-Keep
Qasim Majib Talib Ju'ur Dai: Confused desert man