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The Burial Signs III:


Aries: A palace set alight. Coughing smoking gilded boiling. For a finer funeral kiln none could wish! As is to kings and princes!

Taurus: Sturdy earthen vases filled with hearts now packed in ash. Smoky rolling armored forms watching over gentle dead.

Gemini: Thundering drums in time to the dance around the ritual pyre. A body bound in beads and linen, sent adrift into the ancient cove. The wailing dance reaches fever pitch. The dead devoured by the very sky.

Cancer: A body soaked in sap and resin, a procession to the ancestral grove. A tree lies waiting, borne open by holy saws. There the dead is pressed inside and the wood grafted shut. A womb of bark and amber.

Leo: The hill fort. The bridges burned when the battle was complete. Knights left where they fell. The alchemists garden left untended, spring after spring. What strange roots burrow into stranger flowerbeds.

Virgo: An old and esoteric tale. One of monks and knots and molten lead. Generations line the holy stair. Coffins made in their visage.

Libra: A silver spade finds its mark on a cold and moonless night. Flames that burn white, casting no shadow. Hunger no more dear child, hunger no more.

Scorpio: The field of war. Hooked spears and crow-feather coats. Shapes dancing among the fray, snagging bodies where they fall.

Ophiuchus: A life on foot. The roadside hovel that became her grave. No psychopomp in waiting. Spectral skin dyed black as night. A traveling coat that almost wards the dead cold. A walking stick now mantled with a long and curving blade.

Sagittarius: The thousand mouths. Glowing thermal pits cloaking ashen fields in steam, by night their light reflected, matching the stars above. Priests in wicker masks cast the dead below.

Capricorn: Immolated upon her forge and cast into her finest molds. An anvil with a proud and somber ring.

Aquarius: The carnival of the dead. A procession in masks and wild colors all drums and braying horns. Masked in their carnival regalia, the gods slip into the revelry, and spirit away the dead.

Pisces: Six feet deep. Never more. Better if the peasants never know what’s buried beneath the churchyard.

Source: Tales of Necromancy

by cnkguy
The Burial Signs III:

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