Paladins, priests, and players alike flocked to an open courtyard at the heart of the fortress. They stood in silence as a cold breeze brushed past them, swirling in the midst of a faint mist. Not a stone was seen untouched by their boots. Everyone bowed their heads and waited as the grim Ogier stepped forth, acknowledged them with a wave, and prepared the opening rites.
He looked much different compared to his prior attire in battle, or lack thereof to be more precise. Now, he donned long ornate robes of white, black, and gold: a ceremonious garb that surprisingly suited him despite his usual wild demeanor. Lucius supposed that this was a glimpse of the Peer of before, back during a time when burying the dead needed not be a common occurrence.
A large tapestry laid before him. The remains of those that could be salvaged were respectfully placed above and covered in cloth, surrounded by an array of candles softly burning under the shade of the setting suns.
One by one, a line began to form. Those who harbored personal connection with one of the fallen—or merely wished to pay their respects—walked up and knelt, muttering a quiet prayer before returning to their place and allowing the next mourner forward. It was rather depressing how accustomed they were to the procedures. Ogier watched on all the while, his face cast in a weary shadow.
Eventually, when the last of the bereaved had given their dues, the bearded man raised his hand and ordered all to lend their ears.
“We gather here today to honor those who have held steadfast, in valor and prestige, the brave warriors of the faith now departed to the realm of our Lord,” he recited. “Let their sacrifice never be forgotten. Let the living revere their memory, so that they may rest peacefully amongst the far heavens among the stars.”
An attendant drew near him and offered a gold chalice filled with wine. Ogier took it, made the sign of the empire’s cross, and bared the cup for all to see.
“Our brothers and sisters have gone to the embrace of the Lord. May they be welcomed to the table of God’s children in paradise. With faith and hope in eternal bliss, we offer now our prayers.”
Ogier dabbed his finger in the wine and marked his face in grand, purposeful strokes.
“Blessed is the Eagle, our mother. You sanctify the homes of the living and make holy the places of the dead. You open the gates of love, and lead us to the dwelling of heroes—our ancestors of yesteryear who yet await our final reunion,” he said.
“We praise you for your mercy, we bless you for your kindness,” chanted the Franks.
“Blessed is the Blade, our protector. You lend us the strength to bring deliverance to our foes and bring sanctity to the graveyard of the fallen. You open the gates of courage, and lead us to glory in the defense and protection of our beloved.”
“We praise you for your strength, we bless you for your refuge.”
“Blessed is the Star, our will. You imbue us the tenets of chivalry and sate true our souls yearning for honor and goodness. You open the gates of law, and scribe that which allows us to prosper, stalwart before the temptations of evil.”
“We praise you for your wisdom, we bless you for your virtue.”
Ogier brought his cup to his lips, and then drank the wine in one, long gulp.
“Almighty and ever-present God, remember the charity with which you graced your servants in life. Receive them, we pray, as we free their souls from flesh. Deliver them from every bond of sin, so that they may rejoice in you with your chosen forevermore. Amen.”
The man clasped his hands together, lowered his head, and deliberated over a moment of silence. It was a time for all to reflect, free from worry or else that burdened them.
After a few minutes, Ogier looked up and received a formal staff encrusted with gems. He inspected it, running his hand through the base—then, he thrust the end onto the ground and recited a holy benediction.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“Go now, spirits of the faithful. You need not suffer here any longer.”
The dead bodies began to glow. Eventually, they crumbled, transformed into a cascade of flower petals, and were blown away high out into the far reaches of the night. They were at peace now, free to wander the land unbound.
Ogier took out a long parchment and recited a long list of names as the petals, ever slowly, disappeared. “Adalbert. Gundulf. Berengar. Gisela. Hildegard. Bertha…” He continued until every last one of the thirty-two fallen paladins were given remembrance, as a reminder of his failings.
Lucius could see it—the weight bearing down on his shoulders. At this moment, Ogier seemed small. How many had he been forced to remember? Thousands? Tens of Thousands? Each spoken name contributed to the growing mound: festering, rotting, until it burdened his steps and plagued his mind in a never-ending curse.
But Ogier did not try to resist it. He willingly shackled himself to the dead, and repeated his solemn eulogy to the very end.
“... The memorial service has been concluded,” he said. The man wasted no time and stripped himself of his formal wear. “Go, and get out of my sight.”
Despite his harsh farewell, the native Franks dispersed without a reaction. The players began to follow after them, as well as Lucius’s party, but the gentleman himself had something different in mind.
“Hm? Somethin’ the matter, Lucius?” Marco asked, trailing away with Harper and Mili.
“Do not mind me, Mister Bernardi,” Lucius said. “It’s a wonderful evening out—perfect for a little stroll. Please, make your way first.”
Harper stretched her arms and yawned. “I’m going to get some shut-eye. Today’s been way too eventful. A gal’s gotta sleep.”
With that, his fellows departed. The only ones left in the courtyard were Sir Ogier and the good Ruggiero. Lucius too, of course, but the gentleman hid himself in the shadows around a corner. It was time to do some eavesdropping!
“... You seem like a man who needs a drink,” Ruggiero said, offering him a mug of beer. Where he managed to obtain it from, Lucius knew not, but Ogier appreciated the gesture and downed it quickly.
“Mm,” he grumbled, rubbing his belly. “Tastes better than the wine.”
“I’m an enjoyer of mead myself. Sadly, ambersyrup is difficult to come by in these times.”
Ogier gave him a rare smile. “A man after my own heart. It is a pity we had not met under brighter circumstance.”
“A pity, indeed.” Ruggiero glanced around the fortress and squinted his eyes. From the walls, to the armory, and even the ground they walked: everything had long worn down. “It is a wonder this bastion still stands. I heard the tales, of course, but…”
“Bleak, is it not?”
Ruggiero reluctantly nodded. “Much more than I thought. Why have you not requested more aid from the capital?”
To that, Ogier clenched his fist and uttered a hoarse laugh. “What makes you believe I haven’t?”
“What? I do not understand—”
“I ask. They do not respond. When did it begin… after the late emperor, Pepin the Rancorous Ravager, had perished, perhaps? From henceforth, we were supplied naught else but what was necessary: stale food, ragged arms, and more poor fools to throw to the slaughter. Your coming here with those supposed heroes was the first notice I received in years.”
Ruggiero staggered back and held his head in disbelief, trying to make sense of Ogier’s words. “That cannot be. I personally saw the clergy depart with your supplies on the Hippogriff.”
“Then you have seen wrong.” Ogier gestured to the deteriorating buildings. “I have done what I can, stripped this territory of all its resource, but there is no more lumber to chop—no ore to mine. I am unable to visit the castle myself, lest the demons attack during my absence and lay waste to the nearby villages.”
Ah, that explained why the surrounding area was a wasteland. Lucius had wondered about the lack of defensive fortifications; it appeared that the fortress simply ran out.
“Forgive me for expressing doubt, Sir Ogier,” Ruggiero said. “But I simply cannot fathom why the elders would abandon your plight. If that is the case, then why send me along with the chosen? Surely they must realize we would speak of the conditions here.”
“That I do not know.” Ogier stood up, thanked him for the drink, and lumbered off toward his private abode. “Perhaps they have abandoned you and your folk as well.”
Thus, the bearded man left. Ruggiero had much on his mind, but there was nothing he could do—no one to question. Eventually, he returned to his own quarters, harboring a newly-rooted suspicion.
While Ruggiero was busy brooding over his revelations, a certain someone set to work and skulked after his latest interest.
Deep in the midst of a darkened corner, Ogier stopped in his tracks. And turned around.
“… Who are you?” he demanded, reaching for his short sword. “Reveal yourself, whelp.”
There, emerging from the shadows with a wide grin, was the gentlemanly Lucius.
“Why, a friend of course! One who is very, very interested in you.”