Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-17114085-20190505142549/@comment-17114085-20190529131311

Kal managed to dodge the pickaxe, however, she was unable to attack another of the miners as the one that she was fighting intercepted the attack.

The miner blocked Kal's way and tried to attack her again, this time aiming at her left leg to maim her.

Jofrodr used his telekinesis to send his sword into the back of one of the other miners, slowing down the destruction of the tunnel. Nonetheless, the miners still destroyed a second beam and the wooden structure began to make noise as the weight of the rocky roof stressed the wood.

"Fuck!" Jofrodr ran past Kal and lunged at another of the miners. In one slash of his spectral sword, he cut off the Orc's arm.

--

Seeing that two humans had broke through their defensive line, the Orc warriors began to move back to try to protect the remaining miners.

Elisiv didn't let them fall back. "Keep them off Kal and Jofrodr!" She ordered.

The festival was over in Vindhelm, the day of the Jarl's funeral had come.

Despite the week of feasting, music, fighting and cheers, the city had once again been gripped with grief.

The populace gathered at the palace plaza, where a large funeral pyre was built for the Jarl. The plaza was full and the people had to gather all the way to the Stone Quarter. Thousands of people wanting to mourn their beloved Jarl.

It was mid-morning when the Jarl's body was brought out by the Fox Priests of Shor. The body was clean, shaven and very nobily dressed. Walking in front of the body was High Priest Olaf, the Jarl's eldest son.

Harald and his court were standing beside the pyre. They watched as the priests laid the body on the pyre and prayed. They prayed that Sigurd's soul safely made his way to Sovngarde, for Tsun to judge him fairly at the whalebone bridge and for beckoned Shor to open his halls to Jarl Sigurd.

The Jarl's vassals began to move to the pyre and laid gifts beside their dead liege. Weapons, armor, tools, jewelry, hides, clothes. After the vassals came the courtiers, who gave similar gifts but of lesser prices. Next were the Jarl's family.

Jarl Arngrim laid an ornate sword beside his cousin. "For your duel with Tsun, cousin. May your arm be firm and your sword swing true."

His sister with watery eyes laid a golden hoe beside her brother, Sigurd the Farmer. Olaf laid an ornate fox mask beside his father's face. Lastly was Harald. He held a circlet made of silver with intricate flowers of gold wrapped around it in the shape of Dragon's Tongues, his mother's favorite flowers. He was about to place it when he saw a commotion in the crowd.

Someone was pushing their way through the people quite desperately. Guards moved in to arrest the man for disrupting the funeral. They grabbed him and were about to drag him away when Harald told them to stop.

He told them to bring the man to the funeral platform and then reached a hand down to pull the man up. "Cousin, you made it."

Chief Vilbaldr was panting. He looked exhausted, black rings around his eyes. The heavy smell of sweat covered him. "I made it." He repeated. "I made it."

Harald helped him up and to the pyre, where the chief laid a war axe beside the Jarl. He cried and muttered. "Uncle, I made it. I said that I would. You taught me never to go back on my word."

Vilbaldr collapsed to his knees, finally letting the exhaustion get a hold of him. Arngrim's son, Hjörvard, helped the chief back up and to the other vassals.

Harald placed the circlet on his father's forehead and muttered under his breath. "Rest father. Leave everything to me now."

As the priests continued the prayer, Olaf lit a torch and then began to light the pyre under his father. The flames began to lick Sigurd's body and the many gifts and a pillar of smoke lifted straight into the air, as if heading directly to Sovngarde like a bridge. Everyone watched with heavy hearts, watery eyes and quivering lips until the flames died out.