Procession to the Royal Tomb (Tears of Nidoël)

“Goren is gone, Goren is dead.” None raise this call in pride even among those who mere months before called for the blood of ermines and midwives. The whole kingdom mourns the loss of their young king. In his brief years, he showed a rare wisdom of the kind that is surely now gone from the land for an age to come. Long are the lines of black-clad folk, marching slowly, somberly to the south. From old crumbling Crownstone draped in cerecloth they wandered. Following the royal procession they shambled, each as lonely spirits hoping to glimpse the green silks and pallid mask of our noble King Goren. Clad in gold and green, grey of countenance yet adorned in rubies was our king as he was laid that day into his barrow. His memory we all swore to preserve…