[Veleraen]

Staring at the inevitable truth was a hard thing to do and as the Giant stood behind all of the onlookers who came to see the now shell of a man that was to be buried, all he could think about was how fragile life truly was. He had taken too much life, too much blood had been spilled by his hands in the line of duty, in the name of honour but at the end of the brightening it did not seem to want to wash off so easily.

A downpour of rain and misty skies surrounded him, enveloping the silence and catching it, holding it so that it could be revered amidst the solemn moment. The words of the priest echoed sentiments, regrets, none of which Veleraen had come here to particularly express. Death was a fickle thing and the growing interest of the Knight upon such a delicate subject had drawn him to the graveyard, not only to mourn the loss of a simple shopkeeper but to allow himself to be immersed in the ceremony and to bring him one step further to understanding of what will eventually become of his own soul and mind.

He had come from the surrounding hills after meditating on the soggy ground and still dressed in his full armament as he trained in every brightening, the Giant stood silently, ever watchful of the precession that proceeded him. The casket was finally lowered as he witnessed a minute in time itself that would be remembered only briefly by those who had been there that brightening, braving the wet and damp conditions. Rain droplets pinged off of his steel helmet, water running off of the chain links that surrounded his chest and abdomen, the essence of Carmelya flowing down the haft of his weapon as it rested against a dead tree that had wilted far beyond recovery. The cold did not bother him but the chilling sensation that ran across his very core did.

The caw of a raven made him look skywards as something flowed in the air, the essence of not only death but its steady approach. There was something quite odd about it as the Giant's nose turned upwards, smelling the damp air and breathing in the particles of moisture. Jalat's hand had seemingly followed him from city to city, picking at his very being, seeking revenge for all the minions he had sent back to keep the Lord of Death company. A foreboding wind swept across his scar torn face, sending his dark red hair up into the air only to land gracefully upon his armour once again, an unforgiving sign, a warning to all those of the living that there was something upon them.

Tension gripped the Knight's hands as he took hold of his weapon, not making any sudden moves, apprehension filling him his eyes darted upon the cloudy horizon. "It sure takes it's time...One would think Jalat cannot reach upon the holy grounds of Zinn'Sunn. It seems I was wrong. Let us hope that this time no more souls are taken this brightening."