Seated on the shores of Lake Lovalus, Rharne serves as the home of the Lighting Knights, the Thunder Priestesses, and the Merchant's guild. This beautiful trade city is filled with a happy and contented people who rarely need an excuse to party.
The chopping waves of Lake Lovalus reflected gentle, early morning light onto the docks. Leeson, sitting on the edge of an unused pier, watched the water move, so oddly regularly, doing everything he could to feel bittersweet about the situation as a whole, but he could only seem to feel bitter.
At his left, in his cupped hand, Kepler sat, still asleep. It was typical for him to wake up much later. Leeson knew it was perhaps rude to disturb Kepler’s cycle, but he needed to not be alone. For this, at least.
At his right, Leeson held a sizeable stick. He looked it up and down, feeling its weight in his hand. He had it in his possession for a few trials, but he wanted to make sure it was dry before he had dedicated himself to coming down to the water.
When Leeson arrived in Rharne, his priorities, of course, were finding work, finding a place to sleep, and finding a reliable method of feeding himself. Work was found by getting beat. Sleeping was achieved by becoming comfortable on the streets. Food was found by destroying his inhibitions towards trash. He did what he needed to do.
But none of these were the first thing he looked into culturally about Rharne.
Leeson could have looked into slang, into customs, into anything that could at all help him culturally assimilate. He knew these were important, but by no means did he consider them important. No, Leeson had something else on his mind. Something that weighed so heavy, it threatened to never lessen its grip on Leeson. But he had to try. He knew he had to, at the very least, try to do right by this feeling.
So, the first thing he looked into was funeral rites.
He tried to overhear conversations, initially. It wasn’t uncommon to pass a tavern full of mourners, if you could even call them mourners. He learned a decent amount from that, but it wasn’t good enough. He had gained the insight that funerals tend to occur on the water, so eventually he worked up the nerve to attend one.
It was for a man named Buck. Human. He had died around the age of 70 or so, as best that Leeson could recall. He had lived a good life. He was a barber in the Earth Quarter. His funeral was packed with children, grandchildren, neighbors, old friends, the whole neighborhood, evidently. He seemed like a good man.
Leeson clung to the back of a crowd eager to celebrate Buck, straining himself to hear what the speakers said about him.
“He was more than a father to me.” They’d say. “He was more than a barber. He was more than a neighbor. More than a brother.”
It very much seemed that whatever Buck was, he was more than it.
After they had spoken their words about Buck, his family members dropped a large funeral pyre in the lake, roped together with care, and a portrait of Buck on top. Inside the pyre, one would assume, was Buck himself. The entire ceremony thus far was absolutely gorgeous, but Leeson couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of the smell of burning carcass.
They pushed Buck out to drift, his pyre creating gentle ripples in the lake. But Leeson couldn’t focus on Buck. All he could see were the faces of those who had gathered to say goodbye. All stony faced, quiet tears, solemn and brave. It was vastly different than Rynmere tradition, but Leeson could understand. And as he looked around at these strangers, each with their own memories of Buck, each with a depth that Leeson couldn’t possibly comprehend, he felt as if he could detect a deep kinship between them all.
One woman raised a bow, shooting an arrow at the pyre, already out in the water. It connected, lighting the pyre ablaze. They stood silently, watching it burn, watching Buck’s flames reach up to the heavens, before, as a unit, leaving the docks to go to a tavern, and by god you would never have known a funeral had ever happened. They were merry. They were laughing they were enjoying themselves. It was truly something to see.
Leeson wouldn’t pretend to have any indication as to what kind of funeral he would have wanted. In all fairness, he was almost certain that he wouldn’t have wanted any. He wouldn’t have wanted to die. There’s no reality in which Leeson could convince himself that he was at peace with what happened. He was a mystery, but that much about him was clear.
Leeson knew, however, that he would have preferred this to all of his family dressed in black, crying over his grieving. He likely had one of those as well, but Leeson wasn’t around for it, and something had to be done about his memory.
In his right hand, Leeson turned the stick over, peering down at the juvenile drawing of a man with a beard that he had etched into the bark.
Leeson held Kepler close to his chest as he stood on the precipice of the dock, unsure of how faithfully he could recreate Rharnian customs, but ready to try.
“We… We are gathered here today,” He said, glancing around him. Behind him, dock workers were busy doing whatever it is they needed to do, paying no mind to Leeson. “... Kepler and I are gathered here today to… To remember and celebrate the life of Peake Andaris, Duke of Andaris City, member of the Iron Fist, a… A really bad brother, and probably a prevented dictator.”
Leeson paused, doing his best to keep himself composed.
“It’s… It’s unfair to say you were a good man. It’s also unfair to say that you were well-liked, but… But I liked you. You were abusive and you were… Overtly sexual, and a lot of things that aren’t incredibly appropriate to say at a funeral, but… It’s the truth, and you would have appreciated the truth.”
Leeson looked down at the single stick he had procured, and the drawing he had etched in it.
Leeson spun around to see a dock worker approaching. He was older, maybe in his 50s, wearing raggy clothes he’d likely be okay with sweating in, his hands wrapped in cloth to prevent blisters.
“I-”
“Well don’t stop on my account. Go on.”
“Are you sure I’m not-”
“Ahh, it’s fine. My shift just ended. In a moment, a few other guys are gonna be off the clock too. It’s not just me. But go on. Continue. Pretend I’m not here.”
Leeson took a moment, trying to realign himself with the situation.
“First time doing this?” The worker asked.
“Yes, um… Yeah it is.”
“The first time is always the hardest. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about the departed?”
“Oh, um… His name was Peake.”
“Peake?”
“Yeah, Peake.”
“Okay how do you know him?”
“He was my brother.”
“Your brother died and his name was Peake?”
“I… Yes.”
“Okay awesome gimme just a trill.” The dockworker turned back towards his coworkers. “HEY GUYS!” He yelled. “THIS KID’S HAVING A FUNERAL! HIS BROTHER DIED! HIS NAME WAS PRICK!”
“It was Peake.”
“Oh, apologies. HIS NAME WAS PEAKE!”
In the mid distance, a response could be heard.
“THE KID IS HAVING A FUNERAL FOR HIS DEAD BROTHER PRICK?”
“NO HIS NAME WAS PEAKE MY MISTAKE I THOUGHT IT WAS PRICK BUT THE NAME OF THIS KID’S DEAD BROTHER IS PEAKE.”
“PRICK?”
“NO, THE DEAD BROTHER’S NAME IS PEAKE DIPSHIT.” The dockworker glanced at Leeson and winked. “Oh, my bad. HEY GUYS. I SAID HIS NAME IS PEAKE BUT I MEANT WAS PEAKE, BECAUSE PEAKE DIED.”
“AND HE WAS THIS KID’S BROTHER?”
“YEAH,”
“DEAD BROTHER?”
“DEAD BROTHER.”
“THAT’S TOUGH.”
“YEAH IT SOUNDS REALLY TRAGIC.” The dockworker turned back to Leeson, who was absolutely dumbfounded. “Okay. Continue.”
“That didn’t really help me with the mourning process.” Leeson remarked.
“Doesn’t really matter, I guess.” The dockworker said, shrugging. “It already happened, so you can’t really change it now. Just like your brother Peake’s death, right?”
Leeson sighed. “You’re not wrong.”
“Ha! I know I’m not. You better figure out what to say quick, though, cause here come the boys!”
And sure enough, when Leeson turned his head, twenty or so dockworkers were striding towards the end of the pier. Soon thereafter, Peake’s makeshift funeral had a sizeable assembly behind it.
“I couldn’t… I couldn’t have ever seen this coming,” Leeson laughed. “Thank you all for being here.”
“On with it, kid.” The original dockworker said.
Leeson cleared his throat. “We are gathered here today to remember and celebrate the life of my brother Peake.”
He looked around at the dockworkers, all of whom had respectfully bowed their heads in silence.
“It would be an overstatement to call you a kind man, Peake. It would be an overstatement to call you a well-liked man. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think you were happier that way. I’m not sure how you died, Peake, but I know it wasn’t how you pictured it. I know you pictured yourself going out in a blaze of glory for all of Rynmere to see. You never told me, but… Sometimes brothers know these things. Like how much you knew I cared for Kepler. Or how you knew what I needed when I was upset. You never knew how to say it, granted, but you knew what to do. When all other adjectives fail to describe my brother Peake, one succeeds, and that is ‘great’. You didn’t need to like Peake. You didn’t need to respect him. But absolutely no one contested the greatness that my older brother had. I’m sorry that my eulogy will never be able to truly do you justice. I’m sorry that you have been put to rest. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.”
“Alright kiddo. Let me give it a go.” The dockworker said, stepping out next to Leeson, in front of his colleagues. “Hello all. My name is Quincy.”
“Wait your name is Quincy?”
“Yeah? What’s the matter? Got another dead brother named Quincy?” He laughed. The rest of the dockworkers laughed with him. “Anyway. Gotta talk about Peake. Okay.”
Quincy took a deep breath before speaking. “Peake. I hardly knew you. One of my fondest memories of you was that time I thought your name was Prick, remember that? That was pretty funny. And judging from your brother’s eulogy, you sounded kinda like a prick, which is even funnier. In any case, goodbyes are never easy. Especially not when you’re saying goodbye to as close a friend as you, Peake. I knew you like a brother.” Quincy flinched, looking at Leeson. “My bad.”
“It’s fine.”
“I digress Peake. Your memory is one that me and all my associates will treasure for as long as we live, until our pyres are set into the lake at this very spot.”
Quincy looked to Leeson again. “You ready kid?”
Leeson nodded. He tucked his shirt into his pants and slipped Kepler down his collar, making sure he wouldn’t fall when Leeson leaned over the edge of the pier and dipped the tip of the log in the water. Quincy produced from his pocket a match, which he struck on his boot and lit Peake’s pyre with. Leeson carefully placed it fully in the lake and sat, again, on the precipice of the pier.
“I dunno if you’re new to Rharne, kid, but right about now is the time where we all get brickfaced. Wanna tag along?”
“No, but thank you Quincy. I mean it.”
“Sure shit kiddo. Happy grievin’.” He said, as he and the rest of the dock workers set out, presumably to achieve an early-morning buzz.
Leeson sat, alone, watching the singular log drift out to the middle of the lake.
“I wish I could have done more for you, Peake.” He said, mostly to himself. “I know it wasn’t much, but… I hope it works.”
Your first two endurance lores should fall under discipline rather than Endurance as they are mental rather than physical challenges. I've changed them for you. If you have any protest, feel free to pm me.
I know what you're doing with the tortoise. I'm watching you.
Points
XP: 10
Loot/Injuries/Overstepping
Nope
Loot: Nah
Fame: 5 (For getting bullocked by dockies)
Knowledge
Knowledge:
Discipline: How to (Emotionally) Deal with Death
Discipline: Getting Bullied by Dockworkers
Animal Husbandry: Tuck the Tortoise in your Shirt
Rhetoric: Delivering a Eulogy
Woodworking: Carving Peake's Face
Storytelling: Appropriate Eulogies
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