~~~~~~~~~~~ GARIUN'S REST ~~~~~~~~~~~

GARIUN'S REST by Aernya Hearthfire Her hands, balled into fists, clenched and unclenched as she tried to stretch the cramped muscles. Black blotches spread randomly over her hands and speckles of the same crept up her bulging forearms. Anyone listening to the steady grumbling and mumbling might have believed the woman was suffering from some terrible disease, whose onset was announced by a dreadful blackened rash. The scowl was certainly fierce enough to convey some likelihood of distemper as the woman glared at her twitching and stained hands. "Bah! Rite'n be tha wurst. Nae propur tha me sits an rites when there be mishyuns what need do'n, an tha Kuldars bones whut need be rebooried. Whut me needs be more fite'n praktise ye ken, tha be whut wuld be gud." Carrying on this lopsided conversation with herself, Aernya busied herself trying to scrub the hated ink stains from her stubby fingers and powerful hands. "Me hands nae made ta draws tha wiggly skwigglies. Hrmf!". Having had a taste of additional training in the use of the broad bladed sword once wielded by the Kuldar Gariun Stormkiln, she'd not enjoyed returning to her studies and the inevitable record keeping and lore recording required of one of her position. Yet, for all that she detested the necessity of carefully writing the clan's history and lore, she couldn't help but feel a bit of pleasure that she'd been chosen by Berronar for this important task. As a result, she grumbled a great deal, choosing to hide her mixed feelings in a predictably grouchy exterior. Her hands cleansed at last and most of the aching gone from the muscles, she changed her clothing which had also become speckled with ink stains somehow and prepared for the ceremony that would take place. The temporary location of Gariun's new tomb had been prepared and while the final effort itself would not be ready for many years, being faithfully reproduced from her sketches and descriptions by master stonemasons and stonecutters, the lad could at last be interred. The sacred resting place would be built around him in a grandeur that only kin could appreciate. Blessed with patience, they'd labor on the burial site for close to 10 years, building with careful and precise craftsmanship a vault that would last for thousands of years. Striding along the corridors and passageways, she reached the hall where the dedication would be made. The bones of the Kuldar himself had rested in the keeping of Moradin's priests, along with the urn containing the ashes of his samman. The falcon Skyhammer had been a faithful comrade in life and now should rest with Gariun in death. Looking about she could see already that a gathering of kin had made their way to hear the words to be spoken and the remembrance of the Hero of Ascore. Muttering, she reminded herself that she'd gotten stuck looking up everything that could be found in the Clan's records while taking copious notes. She mumbled grumpily, "Bah, always rite'n." The ceremony itself was stately and practical and Aernya breathed a sigh of relief when the remains of the lad were safely laid to rest. The disturbance of his original tomb had upset her greatly and she'd been uneasy at the message his spirit had conveyed. Perhaps now that the bones and ashes were interred once more, she'd feel a bit less bothered by the whole affair. It was bad enough that the tomb had been destroyed but far worse that the Kuldar's spirit had gone walking anywhere. Slipping to the new burial site, she'd spoken quietly, "Lads whut's in ther toombs shuld stays in them, an nae be deesturb'd. Ye rest gud Kuldar, ye bones be proteckt'd now an ye samman be wit ye." Pausing a moment and glancing around to be sure no one watched or listened, she slid the broadsword from its sheath. "Ye ken lad, me nae sure'n whut me shuld do. Me wuld nae wish't ye ta leeve yeself weponless." Pondering, she spoke again hesitantly with all semblance of gruffness gone from her voice. "Ye ken lad, me wuld do me best ta bear ye sord wit skill an brayveree. Nae as gud as ye be, nae yet but ye ken me wuld nae fail ye." Glancing at the glowing blade, she shook her head slowly. "Gariunlad, kin, me apresheeyates ye trust an ye gift, thankee a'gin." Sliding the magical sword back into the scabbard, Aernya stood silently by the tomb, her mind asking a question she could not even frame with words. Later that evening toiling and grumbling at her writing desk while recording the dedication ceremony of the tomb of Gariun Stormkiln, the Hero of Ascore, the answer came to her in a flash of inspiration. Until now, she'd never seen the point of all this toil and effort, all this recording and writing, scribing and scratching. The journey of the Kuldar's bones, the tales of his adventures and heroism, the re-dedication of his remains and the pride the Clan felt in the achievements of their kin, and her own strange feelings about the sword she'd been given by the spirit of a long dead hero, suddenly all made sense now. If the Clan's mighty kuldar were forgotten and the records of the kin were scattered and lost, some critical and essential life would be torn from her people. She could not let that happen, ever. ~ Aernya Hearthfire