Counting Corpses

Log Info

• Title: Counting Corpses
• Emitter: Ashes
• Characters: Ashes, Verna
• Place: A15: Alexandrian Catacombs
• Time: Wednesday, June 03, 2020, 9:28 PM
• Summary: Ash is asleep in the catacombs, tucked in beside a coffin. Verna, on duty to inventory the resident remains, finds her count elevated by one and asks the living to stand. Ash introduces herself, and is chided for occupying a place meant for more permanent guests. She offers to help with the counting, and the two Mourners go about that, discussing the differences between Alexandria and Blar's Vardaman Temple. Unsurprisingly, the one run by the hobgoblins is more regimented and militaristic, although overall the same duties are performed. The main exception being vampiric injuries are assumed and specifically investigated for in Blar, whereas in Alexandria it's more a special case, extra procedure. Verna says she will find Ash a proper 'vault' of her own, upstairs amongst the living, and she accepts this must be so.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A15: Alexandrian Catacombs *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Three somber halls for a somber deity. Each entrance is guarded by silent Chord in pale gray robes and hoods, each of whom bear the symbolic khopesh at their belts. The first of the halls, with its great ironbound doors, is the hall of the Harpist, Her sad and sorrowful face looking down upon all entrants, arms open wide as a mother who greets a grieving child. There the beloved dead reside.

The second hall is overseen by the judge in all Her stern glory. Neither fierce nor gentle, she holds a scale in one hand and a ledger in the other, so that she might judge those whose names are unknown, the faithless, and the repentant. Here the uncertain dead reside.

The last aspect, the warrior, wields a khopesh in each of Her hands, eyes ablaze with fury as one hand rises as if to strike down a foe. It is there that the criminals, the vile, the evil, are interred. The door to this hall is bound in adamant and heavily locked with all manner of prayer, sigil, and invocation engraved in its scrollwork. Lancers guard its entrance, with Absolutions beside.

The antechamber leading to each hall is, itself, little more than a cave gilded with gold statuary of Vardama and carvings, telling of Vardama's kindness, wisdom, and fury all. Braziers at every corner provide light and fill the air with a heavy somber incense. From somewhere unseen, an unending funeral dirge is "piped in," accompanied by hooded Chords (monks) who constantly polish and clean whilst chanting their dutiful hymns to Vardama and Her tender mercies. The center of the room is dominated by a statue of Basalt with Vardama in each of Her three aspects back to back to back gazing over the room.

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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ashes        5'11"    177 Lb     Hobgoblin         Female    A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face
Verna        4'5"     98 Lb      Half-Elf          Female    Petite humanoid in bulky gray robes and cloak.         
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The Alexandrian Catacombs, where the dead and Ashlee Ciardahn sleep. She rests in the second chamber, past the stern judge and her tome, far enough inside that the loculii populate the walls. She has found one at waist height, pushed the coffin to the inner limit, and laid herself out beside it. Resting on her back, hands clasped on her belly, with her faded grey hair and clothing, she seems like a permanent resident. This impression is enhanced by the skull markings on her face. She appears to be a very healthy skeleton. It's only the rise and fall of her chest that distinguishes her from the others here, even if she sleeps like the dead. Lingering about her are faint hints of the aromatic oils used in preparations of the bodies. She makes an exquisite corpse.

While the guests here are unlikely to vacate the premises unannounced, a few unpleasant incidents have occured in times past. As well, it is a matter of procedure that a minimum cursory inspection and count be taken periodically. Thus it is that Verna moves unhurriedly and smoothly through the passages. Not only does she require no additional illumination, she tends to find more solace in the company of the deceased than the living.

"Seventy-five. Seventy-six. Seven-" Her count aloud pauses as she notes the rise of one. Not a full rise, but just of the chest. Still, it is enough to signal that something is amiss. "I ask that any who are not currently deceased stand to be audited."

Eyes blink open. Orders heard while asleep are reviewed. The grey form shifts, one hand grabs the edge. There are stylized bones on the back of the hand. The figure pulls and twists, sliding out to stand. A beaten leather satchel was her pillow, and that is retrieved. Standing, the arvec nar still looks like a very healthy skeleton, the markings that creates the sugar-skull on her face appears to be of some permanent kind.

"Mourner Ciardahn." She says, in a flat, featureless voice that contains no urgency.

Verna's hood tilts upwards to survery the rising arvek, then dips as she nods. "Mourner Ciardahn. I am Sage Mourner Verna. While the air may be more pleasant here in this season, and the silence pleasant, it is not general practice, here, to rest amongst the remains of The Judged. There are suitable vaults, above, for such purposes."

She listens. With her head tilted forward, her thick hair hangs like a hood. That feature doesn't appear to be a part of her clothing. She blends very well with the surroundings, having a natural atmosphere of the grave. Quite, chilled. She nods, she doesn't smile, and her answer is short. "Ok."

Followed a moment later by, "Do you need help counting?"

The response appears sufficient as Verna dips in a new nod. She turns, after, to return to her prior path. "Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight." She steps again, and pauses. "If you wish to assist, I do not object, Mourner Ciardahn." Her movement continues, though steps may be hard to track as her volumous robes obscure the presence of feet or legs. If one is comparable to skeleton, the other might be shade.

"I prefer Ash." The arvec mourner says, again without inflection. She nods and takes a notebook out of her leather satchel, along with a pencil. "Count all, or only one side?" She asks, making some markings.

"What if they aren't resting?"

Verna gestures to one side, and a niche in particular. "If you would count that side from thence, I shall tally the other." She continues, making her count silently, now. "To whom do you refer? All here are at rest, insofar as their mortal remains are concerned. The fate of their souls, of course, lies with The Grey Harpist."

Ash nods, heading towards the niche as instructed. She marks a little map on her page, some Xs, and then strokes for a count. Her head bobs at each one, and she is slow, seemingly wanting to touch each casket or remains she passes. "Some speak to me. Not here. Not yet." Stroke, stroke, her pencil works away.

"Should that change," Verna notes between counts, "it would be wise to inform others. Souls tied to this realm, whatever their judgement may be in the one beyond, are wretched, tortured things. Such a blasphemy to the order of all things cannot be allowed."

"Ok." Ashlee says simply again, continuing her silent count. Her steps are quiet, the dead will not be disturbed. The loudest sound is the scratching of her pencil, until she chooses to speak. Her voice continues to be monotone, the words carefully formed. "They are always sad. Not always wretched. They never seemed like blasphemy. More, stuck. Unwilling to let go."

Verna stops after several steps, hood panning towards the arvek. "I meant only that it is our duty to aid them to let go and continue on. To ... unstick them, as it were. Most I encounter are those bound against their will and chained rather than lost."

Ash nods in return, looking sombre. She doesn't smile and the stylized teeth across her lips add to her impassive look. "I met some after the giant ooze. They died so quickly they didn't understand. I brought their names." She returns to count loculii, alcolves and occupants.

"That is not so surprising, given the magnitude and spread of it," Verna admits. "Both are decreasing rapidly, however. Soon the only remnant of the plague and ooze shall be unpleasant memories of it, and more fond recollections of the fallen."

"Yes." Ash says, agreeing. She doesn't seem to have anything further to elborate on that topic. Quietly she continues with her inventory, scratch, scratch. Eventually she observes, "The procedures differ in Blar."

Verna appears to make mental note of her own count, no longer stating it aloud. She could be mouthing the tally as a mnemonic, but her face isn't readily visible. "Interesting. How so? Each locale tends to harbor its own variations of ritual or procedure, incorporated from the environment and inhabitants."

"The prayers are in a different order." Ash elaborates, moving like a zephyr is blowing her along. Her clothes seem like they once were nice, became heavily worn. They are loose about her. "Every body is checked for signs of vampires. Things start on the hour."

Another moment goes by, "Different language, of course."

"Ah," the sound is soft but carries epiphany. "Matters of prudent concern and ordered discipline. I am pleased to note that incidences of vampirism or other contagious undead are quite rare in this city and the surroundings."

"That's good. I met some." Ash replies, having finished her section apparently and returned to the branching. All rather silently. "Military are honoured first. Those are all the differences."

Verna completes her own side and halts at the intersection. "Regretably, I have encountered some, as well. The one most recentl was decidedly unpleasant, but he is now destroyed. The differences are distinct, but few. I will keep those in mind. Most here complete their duties with efficiency and care... yet perhaps further discipline or structure from outside examples would improve matters."

The ashen arvec thinks this suggestion over. Regimented structure is nice and appeals to her on an cultural level. Still, here is not Blar, and some practices arise organically. "I wouldn't change things. Wasn't this Temple destroyed a few years ago?"

"Over two decades past," Verna clarifies, "from the ultimate betrayal at the hands of our own. I was not present for such and I am pleased to not have witnessed it."

"I wasn't invovled." Ash clarifies. She is much too young to have been, although she is an Arvec Nar and perhaps imagines some guilt by association. "It's still talked about in Blar. Negatively."

Verna's nod dips with a nod. "It is a wound that is slow to heal that has left a scar. One not of the sort to be boasted of." Ash nods as well, agreeing. She looks around, "Where do we go next?"

"This corridor was all that remained of my current section," Verna notes. "The catacombs are far too large for one to accurately count in a reasonable time. Thus, my recommendation is upward."

Ash acknowledges with a nod, holding out her notebook to show off her tic marks. "These totals are correct, or that is tabulated upstairs?" She seems ready to follow, an easy shadow if a somewhat taller one. She brushes the thick strands of her hair back with the pencil, keeps a long look at Verna, her eyes moving in the dark sockets of the painted skull.

Verna looks to the notebook. "The count does not appear conspicuously unfeasible, but is tabulated and recorded above. More niches and alcoves are filled daily, so a prior count is a poor comparison. Come. We will impart the count to records and I can locate and allocate you a proper vault for you own use, if you were not yet assigned."

Ash slowly bobs her head again, silent acknowledgement. "I would like that. Thanks."