If I were to die today and be given a chance to attend my own funeral, I wonder what I would see.
Would I be able to see? Would all of my senses be as normal men? Or would they be as they were in life?
Let us, for the sake of argument, say I WOULD be able to see. Now, what do I see?
Well, of course I see me, the centerpiece. All kindled up on my pyre, ready to light up the night.
I would hopefully see those I considered to be friends. Like Iron Commander Cody Fireblade, my sponsor and guide into the warrior profession. Would he weep for me? Perhaps. We got along well enough. I even joined Serendipitous Resurrection, partly because of him and his personality.
Maybe Lavender Morgan would be there as well. Among the first to welcome me to Valorn, she had become a good friend and guild sister before she left the guild. Her talks with me during my early turns and the knowledge she imparted served me well for many turns.
Would Iron Commander Raffe Rychmin attend? Would he bear my shield of eternal light after I am gone? I cannot think of anyone I would want to have that precious gift more than he. He has a shining reputation to uphold after all.
Lorenzo… would he spare the time, or would he care more for shine?
Would Bifrost be able to pry himself from that hollowed out tree and his gremlin friends to see me off to the next plane?
Lillya… how long would it take her before she would dance again? Hopefully, she might dedicate a dance to me.
Would Topaz recite an eloquent poem about my deeds?
Rig Mortus, a warrior of few words. Perhaps he would give my eulogy?
Bo Bonnie… She had become a fast friend and helped me to bury my grief over my own lost friends. Would she provide that same guidance to the others in attendance?
My guild sister Rosaline… a beautiful woman and devout to Miranda. Please put in a good word for me sister.
Is that Zibathia? Now why would she be there I wonder. Perhaps she feels remorse for her treatment toward me. She does appear to be wearing the benevolent robes of Miranda I threw at her in my anger.
Who is that languid looking fellow hanging near to Zibathia? What is that slung over his shoulder? Is that a… mop? I think it is. A glowing mop… the things you see when you are dead.
Would the gods deign to observe a mortal’s ceremony? Could their godly eyes shed tears for a fallen warrior who endeavored to honor them and provide them amusement?
Perhaps I might get the chance to ask them. Where does one go when they die? Do they ascend to Sunrifter to be with the gods? Or do they merely cease to exist? All questions I may never get answers to.
And now the time has come. There is Brisingr and Falx, coming to light the pyre. I can see it all… the sparks and embers. The flare as the collection of chucked wood ignites beneath my corpse. I can see the light of the flames reflected on the rivulets of tears streaming down the faces of those I called my friends.
Farewell everyone. Remember me as I was in life. My fight is over.