The men gathered around the ashes of their twice-fallen comrade. There were those who knowingly approached the body, ready to pull aside another fallen soul to rest. One of the figures stood silent, staring down at a mask, its features deforming. As Sybaris’ gaze fell upon the body of Omar once again, dried lips began to fray. The figure stirred from afar.
Many looked up, eyes responding to an unfamiliar rasp. The shadow in the corner of the room looked up at the others in the room, purple eyes glowing from beneath the familiar matte hood. Sybaris held a white mask in hand, approaching the others.
“Let me give some rites first. It is inappropriate to give no closure to a disaster like this.”
A voice, even-toned, emerged from the rasp of the assumed ghastly form. Sybaris pulled the hood away as matte robes melted into cloth-adorned armor, holding a hand newly gloved by blue silk and steel. As facial features shaped themselves into form, she stepped into the light, a set of green eyes looking about comrades.
“We are here to formally recognize the fall of a companion,” Sybaris said, holding the now featureless mask in both hands.
“We are actors gathered here in a grand narrative, weaved by our grace, our fortunes, our wills. Blessed we are, for victories follow adventurers amongst foreign lands and great discoveries lay in wait along alien paths. To this tale we trek.
“Today, we witnessed an unforseen chapter, crafted not by verse or action but by the forces of fate. A violation, by any account, but we recognize our shortcomings. For this, I offer these amends:
“This mask is hereby offered up to imprint, a reminder to us all of a fallen actor. We retain his duties, the role he was forced to abandon.”
She lay the mask upon the ashes. A swift flick of the wrist and an utterance later, she picked up the raw mask, its inside engraved with the lines and contours of a familiar face.
“Omar Smartsword, a Flying Swordsman of great talent,” she remarked, holding the mask up for all to see. "I affix this oath: I, Sybaris of Shifting Tides, will lay to rest this body and hold the role he played as my own until a proper heir receives his part. As a fey, I am officially beholden to oath and will not defy it as do those under the Court of Summer, for no fey strays from a woven tale and no spirit breaks from the truth.
“Now rest properly, Omar Smartsword, for your chapter has come to a close.”