Previously, the heroes arrived at the graveyard in Blackheath to find the Gravekeeper and learn whether his reappearance might aid them in creating a binding circle strong enough to use on Epidemius. After defeating the Gravekeeper once more, as well as half a dozen necrophages, discovering a mass grave of fresh corpses collected by the Gravekeeper, and descending down a mausoleum dedicated to the Garamond family, they found the Gravekeeper’s sarcophagus and discovered that his bones were wrapped in a dark chain. Virulencia, who had followed the heroes down into the mausoleum, taught the heroes that this was the Chain of Forgotten Names.
Ninth Day, Second Ride, Autumn Twilight, 1262
(Silvermoon is waning, Bloodmoon is waxing, Darkmoon is waning)The heroes were still deliberating on what to do with the chain that was wrapped around the bones of the Gravekeeper. As they had uncovered the lid of the sarcophagus again the ominous voice started booming through the crypt’s partially flooded floor. They knew from before that this would preceed the Gravekeeper’s next appearance, and so the sands of time were quickly running out before the next confrontation.
Quentin, driven either by a hunch, or by a sense of duty, decided to ascend the steps up to the surface. As he did so he was followed by the treachery of ravens that have came to witness the heroes down in the crypt. He passed by the three guardsmen who were still resting and continue to ascend until he smelled the cold, winter air again. The wind had picked up over the bay, bringing with it a softer, less biting cold.
Quentin found the mass grave on the eastern end of the graveyard, surrounded by walls. The treachery took place all around the graveyard to observe what he was doing. He grabbed one of the bodies, which appeared to be a recently deceased man in his middle years, and he laid him out on the frozen, snow covered grass. He expected there to be twenty-seven bodies, one for each of the ravens in the treachery, and each of the links on the Chains of Forgotten Names, but he was surprised to find there were fourty-one. That surprise did not diminish Quentin’s resolve on what he felt honourbound to do; lay them to rest, observe the rites, and remember them; “No life goes unsung,” he said, determined, and continued to lay them down next to one another.
Taking some of the soil from around the graveyard Quentin blackened his eyes, and continued to draw a glyph of a raven on the forehead of each of the dead. Those who had their eyes open got them closed. Those who had them closed got the same gesture across closed lids, like a last caress.
Someone needs to say farewell. I do not know your names.
You are fathers, daughters, mothers, and sons.
I do not know your names, but I know you all.
I name you millstone.
I name you plow.
I name you steel.
I name you lovers.
I name you joyfull.
I name you grievers.
I know who you are.
Quentin drew Róisín and heard a gleeful voice as he stuck the blade in the ground and let her spawn tangling vines all around the bodies. The vines grew quickly and wrapped around the bodies like a chrysalis, like a coffin. Once the bodies were covered, Quentin walked around the site, twelve times diesel, twelve times withershins.
Hear my voice, o Majesty, hear your servant’s plea.
I ask for deliverance; release these souls from earthly thralls.
O Mother of Mercy, and grant them access to Thine eternal halls.
I annoit them with soil and let the earth have their remains.
I beseech Thee and ask for Thine favour.
Thine servant’s hard toil is soon to be over and his burden ready to be passed.
I relieve them from their chains and consign them to Thee, o Faceless Guise: I bid them farewell.
Once Quentin was done with the ritual, the vines whithered away and the ground had swallowed up the bodies, using them for nourishment. He took off his Ser Fulton’s shield and carved fourty-one tacks next to the names of Hejduk and Hamish to remember the bodies he buried.
In the distance, the bells rang three times.
Despite feeling a sense of satisfaction by what he did for the dead, Quentin did not get the sense that his attempt had resulted in a material change to the predicament of the Chain of Forgotten Names. The ravens were still looking down on the heroes from their perches, occasionally cawing their approval. And so the heroes decided to go back down into the crypt underneath the mausoleum. On their way the found the three guardsmen who had slipped into a tired torpor by the pale light of a small campfire. Both Luca and Neamhan were worried that their lingering spirits would grown vengeful if they realised their situation without being guided by a benevolent shepherd.
Some of the heroes engaged the lethargic guards in conversation, while others went down to check on the Chain of Forgotten Names. As Luca touched the chain and heard the murmurs coming from the links he nearly forgot Hamish’s name. Chakuq, who had joined Luca, quickly surmised that nothing had changed from before the ritual Quentin had performed, and suggested to Luca to join the others.
“You speak as if the world kept moving.” She paused, frowning, as if the thought slipped away. “Of course it did. That’s foolish. We just…” she exhaled, a sound like wind through old cloth. “We just lost track of the days.”
– Valerie of Eastminster, Crownsguard
Quentin and Neamhan were engaging Valerie, and during the conversation their lethargie seemed to fade somewhat. The ravens had followed Quentin down into the crypt again and had found ledges, alcoves, wall sconces, and statues to sit atop of. Chakuq and Astrid were singing and humming a melody which sounded like a lullaby, aided by Emrys. As the conversation progressed, they slowly changed the song from a lullaby to that of a mourning song.
The heroes found it difficult to navigate the conversation with the guards, and quickly found that each of them was motivated by and mournful of different things. What worked for one, did not work on another, and several times they said the wrong thing to one, leading them to get agitated, and their appearnce to start growing distorted.
“How long did you say it’s been?” the young man, asked. “No, don’t answer that. Everytime you do, my head feels… thinner.” He pressed a hand to his temple, the tops of his fingers passing faintly through. “Sergeant, I can’t remember my sister’s face anymore…!”
– Jon of Belstone Corner, Crownsguard
Quentin tried to get the guards to accept that they could rest and let go, but this did not appear to be what they were after. Neamhan, had an equally hard time getting them to understand the situation. Different ideas were discussed among the heroes. When it was suggested to trick the guards, Quentin resolutely said; “Death is no home to lies,” and with that the matter was settled. When Astrid was asked how to treat an old warrior, she said that she would not know, since there were no such things as old warriors in Helmark.
“I remember the march down here. Cold stone. The smell of damp,” the old guard chuckled softly. “I remember thinking we’d be home by Midwinter.” He looked around the crypt, as if finally really seeing it. “Midwinter must have come and gone quite a few times, hasn’t it?”
– Dirk Cooper, Crownsguard
Eventually the heroes managed to navigate their way through the labyrinth of each guard’s motivation, and found that Valerie was in need of cold proof, while Jon needed reassurance of what happened after death, while Dirk only cared that what they had done had mattered. Each of them, however, took pride in their watch.
“If we’re dead,” Valerie swallowed hard,”say it plain, if that’s what you believe.”
“So that’s it, then,” Jon said, “we died down here.” The young guard laughed a hollow laugh. “I thought death would feel louder.”
“No,” Dirk said quietly, “this feels right.” He paused before concluding, “That’s what frightens me.”
“There’s a choice, isn’t there?” Valerie said, addressing the heroes. “We feel it. Like a door we’ve been leaning against without knowing.”
“If we step through… what happens,” Jon asked. “Is there anything after this farewell,” his voice barely a whisper.
“What I want to know is far simpler,” Dirk said as his eyes met that of the heroes. “Did we matter?”
Eventually, each of the guards accepted their death. Quentin assured them that he would honour their memory; “I’m a grave knight of the Raven Queen; whatever is your burden, so shall it be mine.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Valerie said, removing her helm. “I was afraid we’d be leaving our post. Turns out, we held it longer than anyone could.”
Jon, breaking out in tears, asked “Will you say our names again? Just once?”
“Thank you for bringing us this far,” Dirk said, standing a little straighter.
He would not forget them; Valerie the Steadfast, Dirk the Unshakable, Jon the Jovial. Later, Neamhan suggested that Valerie should be called “Valerie the Loyal”, which none could deny.
As the guards accepted their death, the slowly faded, each leaving behind bleached bones and corroded armour. The last thing they saw from Jon was a bright smile as he looked out beyond the veil; “I think I remember her now. My sister.” Valerie stood up and saluted the heroes with a sign of the aquila and said; “The watch is yours now.” When they were gone, a weight was lifted from the crypt, and the heroes felt steadier and more assured.
