The Playground: Whispers of Taelarys IC

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

"Hmm, on second thought, it may be easiest if I wait for you by the main entrance to the Arena. We'll go in together. I'll attempt to be there as early as possible. Eh... if you'll excuse me, I think I've just spotted someone I know and should say 'hello'."

Anselme dropped from the railing and bowed his head quickly to Mikado before scurrying off nervously. Perhaps it was someone who had just seen him.

Four hours prior...

Three small graves lay side by side. Two men had dug them in the span of an hour and laid down three slender bodies in the earth. They'd made jokes as they dug; theirs was grim work, even if they cared nothing for those they interred. A bit of levity helped pass the time and assuage the choking morning mist and the oppressive silence of the graveyard. When they'd left, each grave was marked only by a round stone with no name. There would be no one coming to pay their respects, not today, not ever. Eventually a holy man passed by to mumble the rites. His words were hollow and rushed, well practiced too. He nearly went up to see his god when he realized he was not alone in mist.

"My son... you nearly scared me to death! How long have you been standing there?"

"All morning," Anselme's reply was uncharacteristically cold and brief. He stood with his head bowed and his hands shoved deep within his jacket pockets.

The priest looked up and down Anselme's fine garb and smirked in spite of himself, "My son these... these are pauper graves." He acted as if the remark was helpful, as if Anselme had mistaken the part of the cemetery for another.

"I am aware, father. Why don't you run along and mumble some prayers for the beloved. I know the words well enough, the gods will not be offended if they come from my lips instead of yours."

Partly shocked, offended and scared for his life, the priest took a last look at Anselme and thought better of what he was about to say. He moved away from the spot as quickly as his legs would carry him without breaking into a run. His hands trembled and his breath short. He knew not why.

Anselme didn't watch the man depart, he only kept his eye on the center stone of the three. He said no prayers of his own, nor did he finish the rites. After a long, long time in silence, he merely kissed the back of his gloved hand, sighed, and departed.