Day of the Dead

Down the hill, the music and festivities of the Argent tournament were in full swing. The sound of metal and wood clanked together, the cries of victory and defeat mingled into one.

But Lanuria Dawnblade was not a part of these sounds. Up on the hill that overlooked the tournament grounds, the Ranger stood over the headstone which finally bore the name of one Saluthiel Rivenblaze. She kneeled down, brushing off the snow that had collected on the simple headstone, fingers lingering over the etched name. The last time she was up here, she stood alongside her fiancé. Varendil, now her husband, stood at the bottom of that hill, waiting for his wife to return after she had made her peace.

Remembering.

The festivities from Hallow’s End had all but faded away, the pumpkins tossed away and the fake spider webs and skeletons tucked away in boxes for the next year.  Lanuria found herself packing up her husband’s troll outfit in a crate with a jack-o-lantern drawn on the side and gathering the small little pumpkins and fake spiders that decorated their apartment very quietly, tip toeing barefoot on the cold tile floor.

A small flash of light was seen in the chair tucked in a corner and Lanuria just smiled as she stopped her packing to look at her husband, who muttered spells in his sleep, causing his fingers to erupt in tiny flashes of Light every so often. Reaching for a furred blanket from their bed, she first grabbed the tome that rested on his chest and placed the blanket on him. The priest smiled in his sleep as he felt the warmth of the blanket and went back to dozing on the chair, muttering random nonsense in his slumber.

Lanuria just smiled as she planted a soft kiss on his forehead and went to the bookshelf, placing the tome back in its home. She found a few more fake little bats and spiders strewn across the shelf and reached up to gather the few that had made their home on the top of the case. But her hands gathered more than just pretend critters.  She looked down to see the eyeglass holders in her hands.

She blinked at the case, black and trimmed with golds and reds, swirling about the leather case in a whimsical pattern. She flipped the case over to see the etching into the leather, lined again with gold.

“Sal..” She ran her fingers over his name, biting her lip.

It had been a while since she found out the death of her brother.  Seven months, if she could remember correctly. She squinted her eyes as she placed the leather case back on the top of the bookshelf and threw the spiders and bats into their crate. She gave a quick glance to Varendil, who was still fast asleep in his chair. She smiled for a moment before grabbing her tabard and walking out the door very quietly, hoping not to wake the sleeping priest.

She glanced down at her Crusader’s tabard, fingers tracing along the small runes sewn into the fabric. With a few simple words, a flash of light consumed her and she was at the Argent Tournament grounds.

Mustering all the strength that she could, Lanuria began to walk slowly toward the graveyard at the top of the hill.