Complete Pormont The Death of Kamala Graham

[Kamala Graham]

The Farm
Just outside Saine Fells, Pormont

Spoiler: Theme

‧͙⁺˚･❀･˚⁺͙‧

Death is not the end.

Invitation

A CELEBRATION OF LIFE

Kamala's
Memorial
Party

‧͙⁺˚･❀･˚⁺͙‧

Noon at the Farm
Just outside Saine Fells, Pormont

RSVP: Anisa​

Her name was Kamala Graham, and her friends called her their savior. They also told her that after so many lifetimes of protecting them, they would protect her. Now, that was obviously an exaggeration on their part: Kamala Graham wasn't that old, and clearly, she wasn't long-lived. They also did not, in fact, protect her. They lied. But how could they? She chose to go down the farthest path from them, the most dangerous one presented to them, and now Kamala Graham was dead. Her dream was their nightmare. She was gone. She was nowhere to be found. She was erased. And they had no choice except to accept that and live on without her. A world without Kamala Graham.

But the ones we lose are never truly gone. A part of them always manages to stay, to remain with us, and that part of Kamala Graham would live on with the people she left behind, most notably the farmers at the still-to-be-named farm that she had help create, make sustainable, just outside of Saine Fells in Pormont. It was those same farmers, of Players and non-Players alike, who decided to hold this little funeral for her, to celebrate the life and times of one of their own, the life and times of Kamala Graham.

Who are you to the fallen? Why have you come? What does life and death mean to you? These are the questions that often wander into the mind of those who wander into these things. Kamala Graham had often struggled with these questions herself, though she did what most would do with presented with existential concerns: Distract herself with the more mundane but enjoyable aspects of her existence. Like food. Or books. The latest addition to her personal garden. Listening to her friends talk about their problems and assuring them that everything would be all right. Did everything turn out all right? No one can ever truly know until things pass. Or people.

The funeral in itself was quaint. As one would expect from such a people. Kamala Graham had never liked overindulging in material things, and the farmers themselves shared this view. No opulence. No unnecessary and inexistent wealth. They did make her an altar of sorts, a makeshift pedestal, out of extra wood and twine, though they could not display her remains inside a box or spread them as ashes back into the wind and the ground. Nothing of her was brought back. Nothing of her was rescued. Only their memories of her remained, afloat with the momentary cheerfulness of the farmers and friends and the more subtle heaviness that accompanied the realization of a loved one passed.

OOC

Hello! This is just an open thread where your character can pop in and, well, contemplate the meaning of life and death for them. They don't have to know Kamala Graham personally. Maybe a Player/non-Player member of the Farm (tm) invited them to her funeral or something. Just a quick heads-up, though: The Farm is but one of the many farms in Pormont but this one just happens to be a community farm "just outside of Saine Fells" with Players and non-Players alike. It is still unnamed because I am terrible with names. Sorry! Rest assured that this thread has an end, which I hope will actually be as interesting as I think it is.

 

[Ayna Nietzsche]

⋇⊶⊰✦⊱⊷⋇

Mourning.

In her culture, the one she was brought up in, molded by, death has always been regarded as a terrible thing. There were a few exceptions, most notably, death as a result of aging, but even that always came with the fine print of a content life with no great regrets, a nigh impossible achievement. To her people, death was not another phase of life but a life lost, often forever, which is why they always endeavored greatly to preserve and prolong life.

"Thus, the emperors of our past were so obsessed with things that could extend their lives, immortalize them, though I'm pretty sure most people in power fell prey to the same."

Ayna sniffed, her head down and heavy upon her shoulders, as she continued mumbling her dark thoughts to one of the farmers, a dark-skinned woman who seemed desperately in need of someone to save her from the Beastfolk's dreary and gloomy vortex of unsolicited stories. It wasn't unheard of at funerals, though, for people to be so sad and depressing, but Ayna was taking it a little too much. Or maybe too less? Dressed in dark purple robes, dreadful and drab, she sulked in the corner. Like a spider who draws in her prey of curious flies. Or in this case, the saddest person that tends to cause concerns among the facilitators or organizers of the event. A terrible event.

Ayna stole a glimpse of the cheerful portrait of her friend, @Kamala Graham, on the pedestal and sobbed. Even in her death, she wanted to be a bright ray of sunshine to those she considered friends. Ayna could never be like her. Ayna did not want to, but she missed her friend despite their differing stances on life. She had been haunted by thoughts of whether she could have prevented her friend's death if they were only in the same place and if they stuck together like friends were supposed to. This was my fault. I should've been there with her. To protect her...

The choices we make define us. The mistakes. And this was, Ayna believed, her greatest mistake. At least in the game. She was the one who was supposed to die first, if anyone had to, not the girl who only wanted to help everyone she's ever met, with her sickeningly sweet smile that made even the worst days bearable. If Ayna could choose, she would choose to bargain her own life for Kamala's. This world, like most worlds, needed people like her. It had enough selfish "heroes" like Ayna.

"It should have been me, not her!"

 

[Chrys]

《⋯《 ⋯ ❖ ⋯ 》⋯》

Solemnly contemplating things.

"And this here is Chrys, the God of Rocks," one of the farmers was introducing him to the rest of the gathered friends of @Kamala Graham, though the supposed God of Rocks was finding it a bit too much, all things considered. To be fair, Chrys has attended his fair share of funerals in the other world, the world where he came from, the world where C. S. Jackson thrived. In that same world, some people took to funerals as, well, a celebration of the life and times of the dearly departed. He had always thought that was an annoying take on things, but the last Chrys had lost anyone he deeply cared about was a decade or so ago. He was admittedly out of touch when it came to these things.

"I'm actually not a god."

"Oh," the farmer was caught surprised by the revelation, as were the others that had crowded around them. Feigning a cough, he whispered quietly to the supposed God of Rocks, trying his best to make sure that it was only the two of them who would hear his counter argument. "But I already made the introductions. Please don't embarrass me in front of the wizards." These are wizards?

Chrys could only sigh in his head. The wizards did not resemble any kind of wizard he had known or met, whether in fiction from the real world or in this game world. But Chrys did not want to, as the farmer had put it, embarrass him in front of the said wizards, so he just politely smiled and nodded his pretty little head when the same farmer tried to pass his revelation off as a joke. Everyone laughed. Everyone was having a good time. Everyone but...

When his eyes, bored out of their wits, scanned the room as a way to distract Chrys from the doldrums of the conversation near and around him, they found a familiar face deep in her misery. Heaving a sigh, the supposed God of Rocks excused himself from the gaggle of farmer and wizards before heading straight to the purple-haired Beastfolk, the Lightning of Lyrwick, @Ayna Nietzsche.

"Ayna."

What is grief, if not love persevering?

 

[Ayna Nietzsche]

⋇⊶⊰✦⊱⊷⋇

Mourning.

It took her a moment, a little too engrossed in her own mourning, her self-pity, and self-loathing, but she eventually realized whose voice had spoken her name with such boredom mixed with disdain. Turning to face the usual suspect, Ayna heaved a long sigh at the presence of @Chrys, oblivious to the fact that the person she had been speaking with had capitalized on the opportunity to sneak the <dolphin sounds> out of there. To be fair, Ayna quickly forgot about her as well, now focused on how much she hated the man who talked them into joining the expedition that took @Kamala Graham from her.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't the <dolphin sounds> that caused all this grief and suffering!"

Ayna made sure to poke his chest hard with her finger for every "well" that spilled out of her lips. A part of her didn't really blame Chrys. They all had made their choices. When the smartest plan was to stick together and look out for each other, a tiny voice whispered to each of them to separate and try their luck in different factions: Chrys had joined the Adventurers Guild, Ayna had struggled with the MIT, and Kamala... Well, Kamala's run with the Explorers League clearly did not end well.

"Bold of you to show your stupid face here! At my friend's funeral!"

If she hadn't been making a scene before, she was definitely making one now, her voice rising to levels that no one close to them could ignore, a spark that would ignite the embers of gossip and scandal. But Ayna did not care about any of that. She's done worse in Lyrwick, even though Lyrwick was drowning in all sorts of worse. Ayna just needed someone to blame, to get mad at, to focus all her anger towards. Otherwise, she could explode in worse ways. Like following Kamala into death's door.

"What are you even doing here, Chrys?! I hate you!"

And then, like an angry child, she started to slam her arms at his chest, breaking into tears.

 

[Chrys]

《⋯《 ⋯ ❖ ⋯ 》⋯》

Ugly crying internally.

Chrys quietly accepted all the criticisms @Ayna Nietzsche hurled at him. He understood her. He really did. When he lost the love of his life, he was the same. He blamed everyone he could, including himself. It took him a while, and maybe it's still taking him more time than he understood, but eventually, he learned to live with his grief. You can't kill that kind of loss. You can only ever hope to live with it until your time comes and you get reunited with the person-sized hole in your soul.

"She was my friend, too, Ayna. As you are."

Chrys ignored the other eyes watching them. To him, they did not matter. Only she did. And himself. And their lost friend. The rest was noise, and Chrys never lost himself to noise. That was what made him good at what he did. More than good. That wasn't always a compliment.

When she started crying, he pulled her in and held her close. The way he wished someone had when he was in her shoes. @Kamala Graham was his friend, just like Ayna, but he understood that there was something else between them, something that he had to leave alone to grow, to blossom. In time, he will be welcomed into that world. For now, he just needed to make sure she was not alone. Like he was. Like he shouldn't have been.

"It's all right. I'm here."

He tried his best to pacify her, to calm her down, but he didn't force it. He knew just being there, at that moment in time, would be enough to chase all that loneliness away. He would not be able to fill that Kamala-sized hole in Ayna's soul, and he did not intend to, but he was there regardless. For a friend. For family.

Spoiler: DO NOT OPEN

 

[Kamala Graham]

‧͙⁺˚･❀･˚⁺͙‧

Without death, there can be no life.

Meanwhile, in the distance, a young maiden in green stopped dead in her tracks. Figuratively. She had just logged back on after suffering her first defeat in the game, her first death, perhaps only the first of many. The experience had left in her some semblance of trauma that, for the past few days, she had decided to distance herself from the game, feeling a little off-putted by how real the tragedy felt, how haunting the aftermath had become. Yet she returned, unable to let go of her place in this world perhaps or just excited to see her friends once more.

"Huh? What's going on over there?"

Kamala Graham wondered, uncertain as to what to make of the pretty mysterious shindig that seemed to be going on at the farm. Is it someone's birthday? Why did no one send me an invite? The soft-spoken and soft-headed maiden in green almost broke into tears at the thought that her friends were celebrating something she was intentionally left out of. But then she realized she did disappear for the past few days. How could they have let her know?

"Oh, right... Well, I guess I'll just take a detour and come back later, when everything's done. Don't wanna crash a party I'm not invited to."

She started humming as she began walking away, oblivious to the fact that she had just skipped her own funeral. Might be for the better.

T H E...E N D ?