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Old 06-14-2018, 04:29 PM
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Vance, the Death-Speaker

"Death is a friend of ours; and he that is not ready to entertain him is not at home."
- Francis Bacon



MANY FIND THE DESOLATION THAT COMES AFTER WAR TO BE QUIET, STRANGELY SERENE. After such a loss of life, the air hangs heavy with the silence of the dead. But in death, life is found anew. It may be an end, but it is in many ways a beginning. The common man often ignored this, and lived in fear and ignorance of death. As thousands of lives were taken outside the walls of Evermor in the Battle of the Twins, the common man found the desolate place to be one of silence.

Vance Farthing, a Gravekeeper, found it deafening.

You see, the Knights of the Grave, colloquially referred to as the Gravekeepers, were gifted with a sort of sixth sense. They possess the ability to interact with the dead, with an innate power none can explain. Though some may regard this as a blessing or a curse, the Gravekeepers often carry it as a thankless burden, for it allows them to define and protect the line between life and death. Theirs is an ancient order, and though dwindled, still exists throughout Vasloria.

Well, throughout what used to be Vasloria. After the reign of the Tyrant Zerah, one of the Twins, the Vasloria the race of Men knew was no more. It was took to being called the Sundered Vale, in mark of the desolation that had ravaged its rugged northern landscape. Perhaps those who were swimming in patriotism after Gola the Lightbringer took down his sisters' dark reign, sacrificing himself and beginning the Free Age, would try to raise the Vaslorian flag once more, but everybody knew that the world just wasn't the same. The people who fought for that flag? Most of them were dead.

And Vance could see them, he could hear them, the poor souls of war who were stuck in this world, unable to move on to the next. He had performed the thankless job of leading some to their peaceful rest, and yet leading others to accept their new existence and find a role within the spiritual community that haunted the breezes of Evermor streets.

That was a year ago. Now, hear the unspoken tale of Vance Farthing, the Death-Speaker, one of the first of a group who would one day change the world. Hear how he became embroiled in events of a gravity he could scarce comprehend, his actions in which would shape the most important stories to come years down the road.






Second Year of the Free Age
Goldenfall the 28th, mid-morning
Monarch Cemetery, Evermor

right-aligned image
IGNORANCE IS BLISS. When it came to their graveyards, the citizens of Evermor preferred to keep the dead buried outside of city walls. There was a certain supernatural element to the honored places of buried dead, where one could feel the weight of their presence. For most, this was something to be afraid of. That's why the Monarch Cemetery, the largest graveyard in Evermor, hugged the outside walls of the city. The tall, thick barrier of stone made the people feel safer, more secure. As did the large evergreen trees that had been planted throughout the grounds, staying green through all seasons and blocking vision of the cemetery. Out of sight, out of mind.

What a place for a Knight of the Grave to call home.

Officially, Vance Farthing's job here was to guard the place and deter any would-be graverobbers. Important, especially considering how it was outside the walls, but you would be surprised at how rare of a problem that was. His home was a small one, but comfortable. It was a good deal smaller than the other two buildings on the expansive property, those being the mausoleum, and the home of the undertaker, Oskar Ruby-Eye. It was more cabin than shack, but was by no means a palace.

But it was a home. And what more could anyone ask for?

On one of the mornings of the waning days of Goldenfall, just a few days shy of the Halloween, basically. See calendar & time info threadBlight, Vance's pre-noon business was interrupted by a polite rapid-fire knock to his front door. He could see the vague shadow of a shorter person, perhaps a child, through the sun-lit window. Strange. He hadn't heard them approach.

"Mail for you, Mister Farthing!" The higher-pitched male voice came through slightly muffled by the door. The voice was polite, though the supposed mailman seemed to be in a hurry.

Even stranger. Mail here wasn't usually delivered to his door.
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Last edited by nanovich; 06-14-2018 at 04:49 PM.
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