The wind whispered through the trees and hayfields of Westfall, carrying the chill of autumn on its breath. Grey clouds blanketed the sky; not altogether unpleasant, but causing a dingy light to illuminate the countryside in the late afternoon. The scene was quiet otherwise—overgrown grass rustling softly in the breeze and a field that was fairly uninteresting save for the lone tree atop a hill on the western edge. It was an oak tree, very old given its size. Not so old though were the small handful of graves beneath its branches.
The largest bears the name Dale Blackborne , with the epitaph “Loving father and husband—died of a broken heart” . The dates seem to indicate the death took place not long after the rise of the Argent Crusade.
The next grave is close to the first, and reads Martha Blackborne . Unlike the first, the text on this one appears to be more crudely carved, and lacks an epitaph, as do the next two, though judging by the names they too belong to a husband/wife pairing, and a much smaller gravestone alongside the pair. The death dates would indicate these ones met their ends during the Legion invasions.
The eldest though is at the very end—only a couple years older than Dale’s, judging by the death date, though it indicates the occupant would be no older than early twenties. Though covered in moss and lichen, the name and epitaph are still fairly legible. Morician Tiberius Blackborne; Paladin of the Argent Dawn and cherished son. May you find rest in the Light .
The wind stirs once more, rustling the grass nearby as a shadow falls across this neglected grave—the figure large and imposing. Silence, then the clink of armor and the soft thud of footfalls as the figure moves onward, stopping to pay respects at each of the other graves before finally kneeling in front of the pair marked Martha and Dale . A gauntleted hand carefully places a small bouquet of white wildflowers atop the graves, before gently brushing off any bits of moss or lichen threatening to encroach on the stone carving.
Silence once more, the figure resting with head bowed beneath his hood, lips struggling in quiet prayer before ceasing to move altogether. No sound save for the breeze, and soft snort of a restless charger somewhere nearby. Several minutes pass, perhaps a few hours even, before a word is spoken.
“I…came back…Ma…” the voice whispers, cracking under emotional strain. Eyes flutter open beneath his hood to peer despondently at the stones, tears beginning to trickle from the frosty depths. “Brought you…brought some of those mountain flowers, that…that you always liked…” His voice trailed off, for a moment, before struggling on. “I…I wanted to come back…before…I…tried to set things right after…I’m…sorry I didn’t listen to Pa…”
The knight reached up, wiping at the liquid staining his cheeks, though it did little to stop the flow. His shoulders heaved—once, twice. “Would…you have still loved me…cared…if you knew what I did…what I…I became…” Words faltered as the bitter tears came stronger; the knight curling up and hugging his knees, rocking slowly back and forth.
Gradually, the clouds parted, just enough to let a small shaft of cheery sunlight through to fall on the knight as a warm breeze rustled the grass. The sobbing quieted; the knight pushing back his hood and looking up, bone white hair spilling out to frame ashen, heavily scarred features. He blinked once, twice, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes before staggering to his feet, taking heart in the warm rays.
“Thank you…I…I understand…I think…” he ventured, despite being alone. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, seeming to be more at ease as he tipped a solemn nod to the graves. Another moment of hesitation, before he pulled his hood back up and departed for his horse, leaving the graves to the peace of nature once more.
((Reposted into its own thread for archive purposes))