The Graveyard

[Agnes]

The graveyard, a simultaneously cursed and blessed place. Cursed with the ever looming presence of death and blessed with holy silence of respect.

Anastasiya loved the silence, and was oblivious to the curse. She stared across the ocean of stones, deep in thought.
She was contemplating something, very intensely obviously.
On her back was her usual great sword, for once strapped away and not ready to be immediately drawn. She had spent a few days here already and was convinced that thieves wouldn't dare approach someone like her. Even if they did, she was certain to notice them.

Finally she decides to get up from her spot, her legs and butt getting cold from sitting on the stone for so long. it was dusk already, her favorite time of day.
Without a clear goal, the warrior wanders between the stones, intrigued and confused at the same time.

[Spookery 💉]

{to Anastasiya}

Ven had lingered in the town square for a bit, unsure of what to do with herself and her newly acquired halberd, but eventually found herself wandering in the direction of the abbey. She had yet to actually go introduce herself to the members there. It was easy to get distracted in such a foreign place—so much so that it was happening again before she even neared the abbey steps. The marble statues from the cemetery had drawn her attention. She tested the weight of the halberd in her hand as she neared the small sea of graves, and was surprised to see someone there. A tall, armored figure with fiery hair (perhaps a kindred spirit) was lurking between the rows. Half of her thought she ought not to bother them in case they were there for somber purposes, but the other half that wanted desperately to know about the other mercenaries here won out.
“Hail,” Ven called out, raising a hand in greeting, and continued into the gloomy yard.

[Agnes]

Antastasiya had just kneeled, and taken some dirt from a freshly dug grave, rubbing it between her fingers. She tastes the dirt and then brushes fer fingers off on the stone. She defenitly was not one to respect the fallen it seemed.
"So strange"
She muttered to herself, before she stood straight again. it was then that she heard the stranger call out to her
"Hail?"
She yelled back, a little confused by the greeting. She decides to sit down on the stone she just cleaned her thumb on and wait for the stranger to get closer, or just leave.
A broken blade at her hip clashes against the stone, making a pebble break apart

[Spookery 💉]

{to Anastasiya}

Ven couldn’t help but frown a little as she came closer. She could have sworn she’d just seen the person sniffing the grave dirt, but...well, even so, would it truly be the strangest thing to happen here? She shook the thought from her head.
“My apologies. I don’t mean to interrupt.” Ven came to a stop near a rather worn down statue and rested the halberd against it. “You must be one of the heir’s employees? I wanted to introduce myself to some of you, since we’ll be working together.”

[Agnes]

"Employee?"
She repeats the word, as if uncertain what it means. She thinks for a moment and seems to remember.
"No, I don't work for anyone. Only for my god"
She smiles an awkward smile and makes a gesture around the graveyard
"I don't understand this. Why put dead people in the ground?"
She shook her head, took the pebble she accidently smashed out of the gravestone and tossed it away

[Spookery 💉]

{to Anastasiya}

Ven looked at the graves around them as the woman gestured broadly. It was a fair enough question, seeing as all the graves almost threatened to spill into the town. It must be difficult finding room for them all. She shook her head.
“Perhaps a crematory here would be too distressing. Digging a grave is better than leaving someone to the beasts, though,” she mused. “Leaves you with some semblance of dignity.” She let the comment linger for a moment before drawing closer to the woman and held out her hand firmly. “Valeria, though I go by Ven. Sort of a nickname of a nickname.”

[Agnes]

Anastasiya didnt motion to return the gesture. instead, she looked quite distressed.
"Better then to die to the beasts? How could it. here you rot away, leaving behind your corpse in infertile ground, While some stone is placed on top of you so that everyone remembers you died.
In my tribe, we would leave the corpses of those that died behind, for wolves and bears to eat. That way you live on in nature and those you leave behind can stop mourning you, because they arent reminded by a stone every day.
You could have at least planted trees on the graves, so they dont live in this purgatory forever"
it was very obvious that the throwaway line from Valeria was more than enough to get anastasiya agitated. So much so that she had jumped off the stone, standing in front of the stranger at full height and using her broken sword as a sort of pointer. She flailed the useless weapon through the air, motioning towards the area around

[Spookery 💉]

{to Anastasiya}

“Ah...“ Ven raised her palms apologetically. “I didn’t mean to offend. I suppose it’s just common religious practice here.” She took a few steps back as the woman leapt up, waving a broken weapon for emphasis, and cleared her throat. “...But wolves and bears are different than from what’s out there, beyond the hamlet. Or so I’ve been told.” She shook her head. “Your idea is nice, though. To plant trees where they’ve been buried. I think I’d prefer that to a headstone,” she mused and glanced at the stone angel she’d leaned her halberd against. Well, maybe that wasn’t the entire truth, but there was no use arguing. Maybe a headstone and a tree. Ven bowed her head briefly.

“It sounds like you’ve come a long way to be here,” she observed, trying to divert the conversation by way of apology, “Where does your tribe reside?”

[Agnes]

"Whatever. Even if they're different, they're still nature. Right?"
She calms down for just a second, and then throws the blade at the ground, making it sink into the dirt. it was obvious by the motion that she was very much used to thorwing things, though her sword handling suggested she was new to it.
"I dont know where it was I come from. I dont try and remember where I've been, for all I know I could have been here before or even met you already. memories and the past are for scholars, people whod rather read than go out into the wild. I live for the allure of the new and dangerous. And for my god"

With that said, and nothing she had to add, she bent down to pick up the blade. She underestimated how strong she had lodged it into it and was forced to pull for a few seconds, until she finally kneels and uses her entire body to drag it out. With a loud crack, the already broken sword, breaks in half across its length. With now two one sided swords, Anastasiya actually seemed happy about the result.

[Spookery 💉]

{to Anastasiya}

She didn’t agree at all. What was out there was unnatural—perversions of nature. She didn’t want to die by their hands and be left there for their hungry, ungodly beasts. Ven frowned at her as the woman yanked her broken sword from the ground and tried to keep her argument to herself. It didn’t seem wise to upset her further; besides, it wouldn’t be a winnable argument anyway.
“Then I suppose I am something of a scholar, by your definition. I learn from my past so I can meet whatever new challenges arise,” she answered firmly. “If you don’t learn from your mistakes, you’re destined to repeat them until complete failure.”

[Agnes]

Anastasiya looked at the stranger, a little confused for a few seconds, then she burst into histarical laughter.
Once she had recovered her posture, she sighed and answered, still giggling to herself for a little, before finally returing to a serious tone:
"For me its that complete failure that I want. Everything that goes wrong, you can fight. If you can no longer fight, you are right to fall. if I make a mistake, I celebrate it, for I know one day it might be the end of me, but until then I will do everything to survive. My only goal is failing so spectacularly, that noone can best me. If im remembered or not, I dont care."
She huffed and sat down on the gravestone she had just gotten up from. All the talking was going to cause her a headahce, she could already tell. With a finger she tested the sharpness of the two shards she was left with, cutting her finger and leaving two slim red trails. The one that hurt more she placed on her belt, the other she discarded, somewhere into the void of the graveyard.

[Spookery 💉]

{to Anastasiya}

Ven could not keep herself from frowning at the woman, eyebrows furrowed. She didn’t understand at all. She wanted to clean this place of perversions of nature, wanted to plan ahead and use her experience to keep a step ahead of them, wanted to succeed. This woman just longed for death in a blaze of glory. Perhaps this would suffice for her own god, but Ven did not serve hers for glory.
“Celebrate your mistakes, then,” she said flatly and lifted her halberd from where she’d rested it. “I shall do my best to avoid such obstacles.” She nodded once at the strange, evangelical woman and headed for the gate of the cemetery without further comment.

[Agnes]

"HA, THEN YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT LIVING IS ALL ABOUT"

Anasatisya yelled after the woman, so loudly, that the entire town must have heard it. She let out a loud laugh and then leaned back.
She wasn't annoyed at the annoyed tone of the other at all. She had heard it often and many times. In the end she could only change herself and not those around her.

"But I know. I know what living means"

She whispered to herself, looking at her forearm, where in black inc her holy symbol was tattooed.

"And you taught me..."

She mumbles, caressing the symbol, then pulls the sleave back over it. Finally, she took a deep breath before letting the graveyard return tpo its silence of despair.

[Boo Ghostie]

A voice could be heard singing within the dreariness of the graveyard. It would seem that no matter what he did, Flynn would always be drawn back to this place. A night of festivities, despite how dreary it became, could not do much to mend his heartbroken state. But to him it was at least a good omen. He had met some new folk, enjoyed the likes of high dining, and bedded one of the aforementioned folk. To him, it felt hollow, yet he honored what his deceased had asked. Though it would have been so much more fulfilling if she had been there with him. But alas, the most he could do is return in his formal attire with a bottle of red in hand.

"♫~I said to that Undertaker. Undertaker please drive slow. For that lady. You are carrying. Light I'd hate to see her go.~♫" Flynn sang merrily as the familiar sight of the grave came into clearer view. Giving out a small wave to the nothingness. At least he'd like to think he'd been greeting someone. "Like the song? It's nice ta' see ye again Os. Just thought I'd stop by again. Probably gettin' sick o' me sittin' around all somber n' the like. But what kind of man leaves a woman alone 'ere, aye? 'Sides, I need ta' show ye' my new duds! Pretty fockin' nice if I don't say so me'self."

He raised his arms and turned around, presenting himself to the grave. "Ye' may be wonderin' 'bout the get-up. Seein' how news don't travel much to the graveyard. But there was a bloody weddin' 'ere in the Hamlet. Aye, this fockin' Hamlet. Can't believe it me'self. Ye' would 'ave fockin' loved it ya' know? All formal n' the like. Holdin' our pinkies out whilst sippin' some fine red. N' speakin' o' which." The bounty hunter raised the bottle he had procured before biting off the cork with his teeth. "I didn't forget about you. I know the dead ain't got much ta' drink. So may as well share. So... Cheers."

The lad nearly choked up at that sentiment whilst holding the bottle over her grave. Pouring the fine red into the soil as tribute. "I've been doin'... I've been doin' well... 'Ell Roland's been doin' even better. I've kept me promise o' lookin' after him. N' I've done as ye' asked. 'Ell I think I've seen 'im talkin' with a lady friend at the wedding. Who would 'ave guessed? I'm honestly surprised I was even allowed in." Flynn sighed as he took a swig from the bottle, seating himself on top of the soil with his back pressed against the 'gravestone.'

"'Cause that noble shite ain't for the likes of us. Lords don't give a rats arse 'bout us little folk. We jus' dying for 'em whilst they shag atop their ivory towers. That's why we stick together..." A choked sob escaped his lips as his hand frantically tried to rub away the forming tears. "Heh, y'know, I've no fockin' idea what happens to us in the beyond. But ya' better give a good word in about me to whatever's up there. If I die and end up in some hell I'll jus' look up at ye' from down there n' go 'Osgood, what the fuck!?'" He let out a tearful chuckle, "Still... Honestly wish ya' been there. Should 'ave 'eard me singin' voice again. I know ye' loved it when I sing. Honestly should 'ave brought me fockin' lute."

Flynn sat there in silence for a good moment, before pulling off the jerkin that sat atop his shirt. Wrapping it around the grave-plank. "Can't leave ye' cold now can I? I don't much need it. I can't imagine bein' 'ere for the rest of my days. Bloody cold as sin." He took a sip from the bottle before pouring a bit more into the soil, trying to keep back his broken sobs. "Y'know every time I see a guard patrol I always think you're part of it. Y'know? I keep tellin' myself 'I'll catch her after her shift.' Only to see some nameless blokes. Even the day ya' died I kept sayin' 'I know she'll be alright. I know we'll be sharin' a pint later n' we'll talk the night away.' But you're gone. You're just gone, and all I wanted ta' do is spend more time with ya'. I can't- I wish I could just move on but it's hard. I should be happy y'know? You're in a better place. You ain't in this shitehole anymore."

At that point Flynn simply broke down. Huddling up against the gravestone letting out nothing but choked up sobbing. Spending hours at her grave just talking to the still air, sharing stories of the going-ons in the Hamlet. "Shite... I'm sorry ya' 'ave ta' keep seein' me like this. Seems like I'm the only one who knows you're gone." He stood up and dusted himself off from the dirt of grief and stone. Turning to face the grave wrapped with his jerkin and a bottle of red, he still felt the need to pay tribute. Flynn plucked his signature jar, still buzzing with life and fresh from the beekeeper. Placing it at the base of her grave.

"You keep her safe little guys..." He uttered before turning to leave, "I know I couldn't."

[relentless]

// Duval //

It's been a while. You, and me. I guess you're still kicking around... well, you gotta be. You wouldn't be talking to this son of a gun in the first place, now would ya?

But y'know... I've just been really, really:

"Bored."
At this moment in time, he had been shooting bottles off a nearby gravestone, one that had been forgotten by the passing of time. Duval was sat atop of a gravestone, one marked as... Bag... Bagnerd. Something like that anyway.  The flintlock was poised, aiming at the last empty bottle he had scavenged for the sake of it, and with click of the trigger, the hammer ignited the chamber, blowing a puff of blackpowder out of the barrel and shooting out one of Duvals trusty leadballs to obliterate the bottle.

The bottle erupted with glory, splattering its glassy entrails in the grass, leaving nothing behind. He held the flintlock steady after a while, eventually lowering it to his lap. In the right hand, a small flask of whiskey was kept to his side, and after shooting the man raised the flask and sipped out of it.

About two, maybe three months had gone by since he had actually done anything notable. But even then, he hadn't really done much. There were less and less expeditions going around, and when there were, they were always strange and weird ones, nothing straight forward, nothing simple. Always some elaborate shit, instead of it being a simple kill or scout job.

The man had seen better, more glorious days. But now... he was just himself. It was a bit bleak really, everything seemed to lose its worth. The clothes, the looks, the drink. Mostly everything... Pre-emptively he combed over his hair, and flexed his pistol. There were still some things he admired. He liked himself, he liked his past.

It wouldn't be far off to say that he was stuck in the past, and locked away from the present.

Sighing, he looked from left to right, stepping off the gravestone and dusting himself down, then finally scrapping off the mud on his boots onto the gravestone he was sat on. He needed to go do some more small time work, dance around, crime or no crime. He could do both. It's what he was good at.

For now he trailed down the pebbledashed pavement, overgrown with grass and other things, where the deceased give life to the earth. Not that he knew anything about that. Walking down that long path, to get away from the silence of death. He had enough of that on his mind already.