A Hero's Farewell

Duemathaday the 16th of Sunsebb 381 ONT. High University of NOULA, main campus

Captain Folas Cailana exited his inn room and looked to Belinda and Thalion who’d been awaiting him. He smiled a thin smile adjusting his uniform.

“It is a little tight, not bad for a garment that had not been worn in almost two centuries, thank you again Thalion for your aid in mending it” The official fleet uniform of the Armies of Argyle looked odd and out of place, but the A of A had been an army wrought of necessity and many divisions never were given a dress uniform, those that were, had been done hastily. The Captain fiddled with his belt adjusting the ceremonial sabre that hung there before nodding that they should depart.

The three worked their way across town towards the university quarter. The streets were busy, and one could tell at a glance that many had come from all across Argyle to pay their respects to Sir Myles of Oula and NOula. By clothing alone you could see many from Pelegious, Rehume, Eiradun, Don-Ton, even the Fire Nation was present. They rounded the bend and stopped to behold the university parade grounds. Thousands of Dwarves and Dactyls, standing at perfect attention wearing their old Armies of Argyle Uniforms. They stood beside elves, fey and humans, beside Trolls and Orcs and Honalians, they stood in proud silence and unity, and others arrived they walked to find their place and joined the display.

“Who was this man, that so many pay their respects, to mobilize battalions and move them in the winter months? I thought he was a Knight, not a general?” Belinda asked as her head swiveled trying to take it all in.

“Sir Myles of Oula is the man who began the end of the great war, without he, none of us would exist, and like a true knight, he asked for neither title nor wealth for her service, he is a credit to this realm” the Captain said as he worked his way towards the elven lines.

At the front several of the High Thanes themselves stood at stoic attention, as did Governor Varrik or Rehume, The Speaker of the Sun, Alana of Eiradun, the Fire Lord and even Lord Strahd. Many of these great people were mortal enemies, and yet here they stood side by side. They found their place, the Captain standing with his people, Thalion and Belinda finding a nearby spot to the side of the ground. Again Belinda was shocked when she saw those leaders of Argyle walk the length of the parade ground and each act as a Paul Bearer carrying a casket of simple dark oak to the front raised dais. As the casket was placed down no words were spoken, instead each of the Paul Bearers stepped forward, and when they did, their assembled people sang a song of morning, it began with the sailors and fey of Rehume. Then the dwarven pipes and drums took up an ancient dirge worthy of a fallen king. The elves sang a tale of Sir Myles’s accomplishments, while the Haunting Beauty of Don-Ton performed a heartfelt ballad of Myles’s great stand to liberate their city. The Fire Nation drums and dancers took on a display of magnificence. While the Cyrmeery flutes pulled at the heartstrings paying homage to the man that was a father and steward of the land. At last Alana, the Lioness of Eiradun stood forward and on her own, sang a soulful soliloquy, she was not a professional singer, but her soul poured into her song as she grieved her lost father. Through it all, almost three hours, not a solider wavered, not one stood easy, they maintained their strict attention and discipline, giving the man who had gifted them with “a Chance” every once they could muster.

Belinda had known little of the Sir Myles of NOula before this day, she had heard his name in passing, but not in any of the epic tales or ballads of the Great War, and yet now, here on this day she wept openly feeling a loss more profound then she had thought possible. The man had been hope, for so many, and now, he was gone. As the official funeral ended, they reconvened with their Captain, they walked slowly back to their inn, feeling that the world had changed now, that one of the last bastions of peace had passed, and that Argyle would be long in mourning that passing.



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