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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Isida Kep'Tukari" data-source="post: 2219609" data-attributes="member: 4441">*For the funeral, Craven laid out all of Nierethi's goods for him in his grave, trying to arrange everything neatly.  He spoke what snatches of St. Cuthbert's holy texts he could recall for such occasions, funerals being something he was not really trained in.  A terrible feeling had been growing in the pit of his stomach ever since Nierethi's body was taken from the frog, but he tried to press on anyways.**Crossing into view of the moathouse, however, was awful, worse than his nightmares.  Fear and nausea roiled in his gut, and he had to stand and run through "The Virtues of Knighthood," twice in his head before he was able to be coherant.  Craven kept one hand on his warhammer, and his shield out.  Behind the shield, his hand was clenched into a tight fist, the metal and leather gauntlet being squeezed painfully into his hand.  Craven didn't mind, the discomfort and pain kept him from doing something unforgiveable.  All throughout the walk, his face remained an impassive mask.**When the trapper was spotted, Craven was ridiculously glad to have something to take his mind off the impending doom of the Moathouse.  But to hear they may have a dragon to fight made him clench up again inside.  It took him another minute before reason asserted itself.*"Can someone help me here?" Craven says, bending down to look at Del's leg.  He had no formal training, but he figured he could at least do a couple of sensible things to help.  He used a bit of water to gently clean the leg, and tried to talk to Del and the others a bit.  "Well, if it wasn't a dragon, what did he see?" he pointed out to Chat.  "Could it have been a decoy or illusion?  Del, did you hear anything from the dragon you saw?"</blockquote>

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