Tales of Shore Blossom

Atonement Ceremony

Frivolity prays for the souls of those slain in battle, and for the lives cut short.

As the tiefling completes negotiations with the upper planar, the light in the shrine of stars fades away to almost nothing. From the east, a faint greenish orange glow can be seen from waters edge, the light of dawn slowly spreading fingers through the clouds and sea. Recognizing that time grows short Frivolity Ramshackle begins a final ceremony. The tiefling thinks that there will be time enough to rest at the festival after all.  

"For the souls, through action or inaction I have consigned to the Outer Planes, I seek pardon, Ptah," the tiefling says solemnly as the fiery disc begins to crest the horizon, the others have assured the tiefling that its presence is a natural part of this Prime Material world.  

"In the light of a new day, I ask atonement for my failure to preserve life," the tiefling paladin prays setting fire to a bowl of lamp oil that flares a bright yellow.  

Ramshackle continues to pray "Opener of the Way, I beseech thee to carry the souls of those slain at my hand and the hands of my companions across the threshold of the crystal sphere and home to lands of the Great Beyond," adding a handful of sage leaves to the burning oil which crackle and whither as they catch fire. 

"In the name of peace, I beg atonement for my failure to redeem my enemies," the tiefling says adding a pinch of powdered aluminium to the flaming oil turning the flame silver-white.

"Hear me oh Supreme Artisan who made all the Prime Material realms and crafted all the natural laws, forgive me for damaging the perfection of your creations," Ramshackle says "I know life is a journey, and through my actions the journey of five kobolds has ended in pain and death. Please guide their spirits home to the lair of their maker Kurtulmak, let them find rest in the Nine Hells where their god dwells and don't let their spirits dwell in their corpses and return to stalk the living," she says snuffing out the flame.

Frivolity rises to her feet unsteadily after sitting in the warriors stance for so many hours, and dons her girdle, securing her bruised bosom tightly beneath the fabric enshrouded demon bone garment, and once again adopting the pose and manner befitting a noble lord of Ramshackle. Rummaging around the tiefling's trusty disguise kit, she dabs a bit of wood sap to an upper lip and presses the fake mustache in place over it. In one swift motion Frivolity has slipped on a tunic and fastened a dingy off-white cloak about "his" shoulders. He gingerly replaces his iron barker in its holster, returns the shiv to a boot sheathe, hefts his scimitar, and strides out into the morning, his heart lightened of the burdens it had carried.



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