Eternity RPC Board
09-13-2016, 11:51 PM
In her entire life, some eighteen or nineteen orbits around the great daytime star, Elke had seen exactly two dead people.
The first had been a few years prior when she'd accompanied her father on a trip into the center of the High Kingdom to attend to the corpse of a recently passed nobleman. A young woman of not more than thirteen years and still trying to decide the course her life would take at the time, her parents had suggested she shadow her father on one of his assignments. Though doubtful of her abilities in herbalism, Elke had acknowledged, as her father reminded, that she did carry an extensive knowledge of all things flora from her days spent in the forests around their home. She could just as easily identify which berries were at the golden-orange peak of their sweetness as she could distinguish between two similar-looking leaves to name which would make a refreshing balm for bug bites and which would leave a painful, blistering rash when applied topically (deductions of her own unprofessional experimentation).
And so, persuaded by her own cleverness, she'd packed her day bag and caught a carriage into the heart of Sidgard with her father. It had happened in autumn when the toadstools reveled in the damp, cool days and when the leaves were streaked every shade of red and purple. Not hailing from the city herself, but rather the very fringes of its borders where on maps ink outlines of the High Kingdom tended to run off the page, it had become clear to her why the need to bring in herbalists from the outer regions was there: the only greenery here seemed to have been methodically planted by men, save for the occasional weed that sprung up defiantly amongst the roots of ornamental flowering trees and a few walls covered in creeping ivy that had been deemed decorative and left alone. Farmlands stretched the distance between her home and central Sidgard, then decorative flower gardens, then only flower pots and planter boxes in town. There was no way these people would know the blossom of a ruby heart from that of a dragon's tongue, let alone poisonous herbs from medicinal.
The room into which she and her father, the man shouldering a pack akin to a doctor's kit, had been led was dimly lit. Elke had presumed this was out of respect for the deceased but at the time found the forbidding of the sunlight into the room to be depressing; she'd shivered in the dark, dank atmosphere. The corpse was stretched out on a grandly furnished mattress, a thin white shroud covering his face and his hands having been positioned so that they rested crossed over his belly. The gaunt contours of his face poked through the fabric to reveal what appeared to be his already skeletal form. A group of consorts of various ages, sexes and ranks had huddled together a respectable distance from the body, black veils pulled over weepy eyes and noses chapped pink from sniffling. Some must have been family, the young woman had noted, but the more stiffly-lipped men with the shiny silver buttons and the fiery red piping around their cuffs must have been the nobleman's colleagues. Their brows had been furrowed and lips drawn tight in something of forced concern while one of the women in the room became hysterical, clawing at the sag of her aged bosom with once red-lacquered nails that had been chewed off to the quick. Streaks of black mascara trailed down her pale-powdered-then-re-rouged face, down the waddling, floppy skin under her chin, dripping into the endless black sea of her corset that strained at the weight of her years. Elke had stared at her as if she were some interestingly vile beast in a zoo exhibit.
Having only ever had ties with her nuclear family, this would be the young woman's first funeral experience.
With orders from her father to brew that poor dear a cup of tea with a notch of widow's root soaked in (Elke had bitten her lip to prevent a knowing smirk; widow's root was a known and very powerful sedative capable of putting even one of King Sidgard's famed draft stallions out for a three hour nap), the preparations could finally begin. The herbalist had opened his bag, pulling out a canvas pack that could be unrolled not unlike a scroll. Inside had been a mix of medical instruments and an herbologist's measurement tools. Though the girl had seen them many times before, it had only been when her father was sharpening or cleaning them. Seeing them in use was a different matter entirely.
Good that the grieving widow was well and passed out thanks to the tea, snoring loud enough to jiggle her second chin and drooling a puddle already.
Looking back, she was not certain whether her parents had called the ordeal a "funeral" because this was what a funeral truly entailed or if the reason could have been that they doubted the appeal of an "embalming process" in the opinions of a preteen girl. Regardless, Elke hadn't fully expected to see her father so coolly gouge a scalpel into the dead man's wrists to drain his blood. Her nose wrinkled up in the anticipation of some sort of foul odor that never came as the man's arms had been allow to flop down over the edge of the bed so his cold, sappy blood could collect in a basin, her father meanwhile having involved himself in removing the garments.
The rest of the procedure had gone normally, or as the girl presumed must have been a normal appointment. Elke had gotten to see human organs for the first time, and there had been the smells that she'd initially expected, but it wasn't any worse than when she would watch her mother prepare dinner's boar or goose. Her father had prepared herb-infused-oils to maintain the corpse and to prevent autumnal mold growth before the burial, then cleaned the work station until everything was sanitary, handed the sleeping widow's proxy a tin of balm and instructions to apply it daily in light of a suspicious looking cluster of rashy warts he's found around the deceased's nethers - and to share with any other woman in the court who seemed to be having discharge or itching - and the Korraidhins took their leave.
The second time Elke had seen a dead body was about seventeen seconds ago - just about long enough for her brain to process what she was seeing and to send the panic signal to her lungs to let out one of the shrillest screams she'd ever managed.
Immediately, she slapped her hands over her still-gaping mouth and dropped like a hail stone under the windowsill.
Oh no, her mind prompted as her body made itself tiny and pressed her into the exterior wall of the house to contemplate, what if she saw me?!
Funny, she might later think, that being seen by the target whom for weeks she had been pursuing was now the worst possible situation at the moment.
But surely, surely there was an explanation for the hulking form sprawled on the floor in a suspiciously dark red puddle. Maybe a handyman who had slipped and spilled oil for the door hinges, knocking himself out cold upon impact? Of course! The place certainly looked as though it needed work, at least if the cobwebs and dust were any indication. The doors were probably too squeaky for someone as reclusive as her to focus on spell casting.
That had to be the answer... But was it?
And furthermore, who knew if this was even the right abode? Could Elke really trust a squirrel - a talking squirrel, sure, but still a tree rat at heart and mind - to provide an accurate report of where Elke's person of interest was staying? Little Red seemed that he was maybe a few apples short of a bushel, and it was too dark inside the house to have gotten a very good glimpse of the occupants.
Two things were certain: the mage needed to figure out if she had cornered the correct target in this house, and she needed to find out if said target had murdered a man.
Summoning all of her courage, Elke raised herself on the balls of her feet until she was just barely able to peer over the windowsill. To an outside viewer, she would have looked squirrelier than Red himself - straining on her tiptoes with her nose shoved against the wooden window frame, trying her best to be inconspicuous.
The inside of the house was still very dark with just enough light to turn silhouettes into definite shapes and colors. There was definitely the body of a huge animal-like man stretched out on the floor, unnaturally still. His chest most certainly was not rising and falling the way an unconscious man's chest would do, and there was undeniably a big dark red puddle under him. While Elke was sure there was an explanation for the scene inside the little bungalow, she was beginning to think the explanation was the most obvious: this guy was dead.
Wide, grey eyes slowly rolled from the pile of man on the floor to the spot where the second soul in the room had been seated. Lips tightly pursed to prevent any additional yelps from slipping out trembled ever so slightly. Knuckles gripping the weathered wood of the window frame went white in unconscious vice squeezing.
"Nevina...?"
Suddenly, a twig behind Elke snapped.
This was it. Her idol of several months was actually a bloodthirsty murderer, and after a weeks-long journey to find her, she was going to murder Elke, too. The student wondered if she'd have time to journal her final thoughts as her time on Andlosheim fled. At least a note to her parents, footnotes for Nevina's biography, an unfulfillable IOU to Little Red for the snack of his dreams....
Mind blank with fear, she turned from the window, falling back on her rump, put her hands in the air, and declared the only thought she could muster. "Maintenance! I'm here to check for mold!"
The first had been a few years prior when she'd accompanied her father on a trip into the center of the High Kingdom to attend to the corpse of a recently passed nobleman. A young woman of not more than thirteen years and still trying to decide the course her life would take at the time, her parents had suggested she shadow her father on one of his assignments. Though doubtful of her abilities in herbalism, Elke had acknowledged, as her father reminded, that she did carry an extensive knowledge of all things flora from her days spent in the forests around their home. She could just as easily identify which berries were at the golden-orange peak of their sweetness as she could distinguish between two similar-looking leaves to name which would make a refreshing balm for bug bites and which would leave a painful, blistering rash when applied topically (deductions of her own unprofessional experimentation).
And so, persuaded by her own cleverness, she'd packed her day bag and caught a carriage into the heart of Sidgard with her father. It had happened in autumn when the toadstools reveled in the damp, cool days and when the leaves were streaked every shade of red and purple. Not hailing from the city herself, but rather the very fringes of its borders where on maps ink outlines of the High Kingdom tended to run off the page, it had become clear to her why the need to bring in herbalists from the outer regions was there: the only greenery here seemed to have been methodically planted by men, save for the occasional weed that sprung up defiantly amongst the roots of ornamental flowering trees and a few walls covered in creeping ivy that had been deemed decorative and left alone. Farmlands stretched the distance between her home and central Sidgard, then decorative flower gardens, then only flower pots and planter boxes in town. There was no way these people would know the blossom of a ruby heart from that of a dragon's tongue, let alone poisonous herbs from medicinal.
The room into which she and her father, the man shouldering a pack akin to a doctor's kit, had been led was dimly lit. Elke had presumed this was out of respect for the deceased but at the time found the forbidding of the sunlight into the room to be depressing; she'd shivered in the dark, dank atmosphere. The corpse was stretched out on a grandly furnished mattress, a thin white shroud covering his face and his hands having been positioned so that they rested crossed over his belly. The gaunt contours of his face poked through the fabric to reveal what appeared to be his already skeletal form. A group of consorts of various ages, sexes and ranks had huddled together a respectable distance from the body, black veils pulled over weepy eyes and noses chapped pink from sniffling. Some must have been family, the young woman had noted, but the more stiffly-lipped men with the shiny silver buttons and the fiery red piping around their cuffs must have been the nobleman's colleagues. Their brows had been furrowed and lips drawn tight in something of forced concern while one of the women in the room became hysterical, clawing at the sag of her aged bosom with once red-lacquered nails that had been chewed off to the quick. Streaks of black mascara trailed down her pale-powdered-then-re-rouged face, down the waddling, floppy skin under her chin, dripping into the endless black sea of her corset that strained at the weight of her years. Elke had stared at her as if she were some interestingly vile beast in a zoo exhibit.
Having only ever had ties with her nuclear family, this would be the young woman's first funeral experience.
With orders from her father to brew that poor dear a cup of tea with a notch of widow's root soaked in (Elke had bitten her lip to prevent a knowing smirk; widow's root was a known and very powerful sedative capable of putting even one of King Sidgard's famed draft stallions out for a three hour nap), the preparations could finally begin. The herbalist had opened his bag, pulling out a canvas pack that could be unrolled not unlike a scroll. Inside had been a mix of medical instruments and an herbologist's measurement tools. Though the girl had seen them many times before, it had only been when her father was sharpening or cleaning them. Seeing them in use was a different matter entirely.
Good that the grieving widow was well and passed out thanks to the tea, snoring loud enough to jiggle her second chin and drooling a puddle already.
Looking back, she was not certain whether her parents had called the ordeal a "funeral" because this was what a funeral truly entailed or if the reason could have been that they doubted the appeal of an "embalming process" in the opinions of a preteen girl. Regardless, Elke hadn't fully expected to see her father so coolly gouge a scalpel into the dead man's wrists to drain his blood. Her nose wrinkled up in the anticipation of some sort of foul odor that never came as the man's arms had been allow to flop down over the edge of the bed so his cold, sappy blood could collect in a basin, her father meanwhile having involved himself in removing the garments.
The rest of the procedure had gone normally, or as the girl presumed must have been a normal appointment. Elke had gotten to see human organs for the first time, and there had been the smells that she'd initially expected, but it wasn't any worse than when she would watch her mother prepare dinner's boar or goose. Her father had prepared herb-infused-oils to maintain the corpse and to prevent autumnal mold growth before the burial, then cleaned the work station until everything was sanitary, handed the sleeping widow's proxy a tin of balm and instructions to apply it daily in light of a suspicious looking cluster of rashy warts he's found around the deceased's nethers - and to share with any other woman in the court who seemed to be having discharge or itching - and the Korraidhins took their leave.
The second time Elke had seen a dead body was about seventeen seconds ago - just about long enough for her brain to process what she was seeing and to send the panic signal to her lungs to let out one of the shrillest screams she'd ever managed.
Immediately, she slapped her hands over her still-gaping mouth and dropped like a hail stone under the windowsill.
Oh no, her mind prompted as her body made itself tiny and pressed her into the exterior wall of the house to contemplate, what if she saw me?!
Funny, she might later think, that being seen by the target whom for weeks she had been pursuing was now the worst possible situation at the moment.
But surely, surely there was an explanation for the hulking form sprawled on the floor in a suspiciously dark red puddle. Maybe a handyman who had slipped and spilled oil for the door hinges, knocking himself out cold upon impact? Of course! The place certainly looked as though it needed work, at least if the cobwebs and dust were any indication. The doors were probably too squeaky for someone as reclusive as her to focus on spell casting.
That had to be the answer... But was it?
And furthermore, who knew if this was even the right abode? Could Elke really trust a squirrel - a talking squirrel, sure, but still a tree rat at heart and mind - to provide an accurate report of where Elke's person of interest was staying? Little Red seemed that he was maybe a few apples short of a bushel, and it was too dark inside the house to have gotten a very good glimpse of the occupants.
Two things were certain: the mage needed to figure out if she had cornered the correct target in this house, and she needed to find out if said target had murdered a man.
Summoning all of her courage, Elke raised herself on the balls of her feet until she was just barely able to peer over the windowsill. To an outside viewer, she would have looked squirrelier than Red himself - straining on her tiptoes with her nose shoved against the wooden window frame, trying her best to be inconspicuous.
The inside of the house was still very dark with just enough light to turn silhouettes into definite shapes and colors. There was definitely the body of a huge animal-like man stretched out on the floor, unnaturally still. His chest most certainly was not rising and falling the way an unconscious man's chest would do, and there was undeniably a big dark red puddle under him. While Elke was sure there was an explanation for the scene inside the little bungalow, she was beginning to think the explanation was the most obvious: this guy was dead.
Wide, grey eyes slowly rolled from the pile of man on the floor to the spot where the second soul in the room had been seated. Lips tightly pursed to prevent any additional yelps from slipping out trembled ever so slightly. Knuckles gripping the weathered wood of the window frame went white in unconscious vice squeezing.
"Nevina...?"
Suddenly, a twig behind Elke snapped.
This was it. Her idol of several months was actually a bloodthirsty murderer, and after a weeks-long journey to find her, she was going to murder Elke, too. The student wondered if she'd have time to journal her final thoughts as her time on Andlosheim fled. At least a note to her parents, footnotes for Nevina's biography, an unfulfillable IOU to Little Red for the snack of his dreams....
Mind blank with fear, she turned from the window, falling back on her rump, put her hands in the air, and declared the only thought she could muster. "Maintenance! I'm here to check for mold!"