[b]Siseridon, Opal Coast[/b]

“Lo Blea Kynigitos. Lord of the Green Hills. Master of the clouds. Thunder in the sky. The parter of the sea, and Despot of the Eastern shore.” the stallion rambled, giving a dry tasteless eulogy. His eyes gazed off distantly as he stood turned from the sea to the small funerary crowd as they stood on the beach. He stood like a statue, his wings pressed firmly to the side of his steel-blue body as untamed light-gray mane danced in his face. He was old, and his eyes half-glazed from cataracts. No doubt unable to read, his eulogy was no doubt committed to memory.

“Patriarch of House Kynigitos and Despot Appoint of Serene Siseridon we commit your mortal coils to Psymagdon for the glory of his skies, and the most serene of flights. Lay your death is renewed energy in the after. And we pray upon your spirit to bequeath upon the next generations your wisdom.”

Even if the poor stallion could see beyond his knotted and gnarled muzzle the funeral would hardly be an impressive. Siseridon, hardly one of the most impressive of the Silver Coast republics wasn't anything to commit even one of its richest Despots a full funeral. Then again, he had hardly been a popular stallion. Those who turned now were those who already say on the Senklitous of Siseridon; only twenty Patricians in all.

His funeral, whose only lavishness was the pearly white sands of the beach and the rich green of swaying palm ferns behind them. The sea was awash in deep blues against a sky of cotton. Deep rumbles of thunder could be heard, and there was deep anxiety to finish the ceremony, and an impatience to make the next step further.

The body of the Despot himself was hidden away in a boat of simple manufacture. It was even more of a sign of his ineptitude. The greed and lust of his soul had spent what he had saved within the week. It had been in the end that it had been found he had stolen much of the city's coffers to buy Satyr wenches to entertain him in his last miserable days, coughing onto the floor of his palace his lungs.

And of the many to see from the Despot's chamber was Iliousis Hymaria. Trusted by the fool Despot has his Viserios, his adviser, he was the witness to every exchange he had made. But it wasn't until he had began to devour the coffers that he became his rival. Blea could have ended him there when he protested. But what had transpired between him and his satyr whores most of had inebriated him into forgetting.

Iliousis. Standing a hand over his contemporaries he was a powerful young stallion. His father had passed when he was just a colt and he had inherited the status of Patrician at a young age. It was a blessing as it was a curse. On the Senklitous it was becoming apparent he would outlive many and he was already a shrewd youth. But a Patrician of his age only suggested weakness in the family. A curse by the Gods to many. In the background they talked about him being the last Patrician of his family, with only mares without a name left to back him.

His silken gold man hung behind him, tied in a long ponytail from his head. A light coat shrouded his pale blue hide in black. Hanging over his wings as he watched with bitter disinterest as the prolonged eulogy dragged. He was growing slowly bored. Golden eyes shrank behind a drooping lid.

But, they said death is a moment of reflection. Of life.

On reporting to the Senklitous of Blea's corruption they had become angry. His hedonism was known, but it was not known it would step over its limits so far. On that afternoon they had demanded abdication from the Despot. But one of his agents must have heard, and before the vote for his removal be made he had dismissed the council. Ordering them cast from the chambers. He knew that without ceremony he could retain his seat. And he continued to deny them for some time.

But as he drank himself through his last days, crying for one last surge or energy to avoid his coming demise the Patriarchs had reassembled. If without ceremony. The Senklitous has their birds, as the Despot has theirs. And the bloodied throws that racked his body became more dramatic it was known he would not live to see beyond a week. The depot grew more bed ridden, more infirm as the the Senklitous withdrew to their estates. Plotting under lamplight. Electing by the fire.

And so despite his dying family arose Iliousis Hymaria. From Patrician to Despot in waiting. All that needed to be done for his glory was the end to the ceremony. The illusion of his election happening this moment.

“We commit thee your body to the sea, gateway to Psymagdon, to achieve eternal salvation in his clear waters, and clear skies.”

The old stallion ceased his eulogy, and lazily the two guards near the Despot's funerary board placed their hooves on the dark wood. With a hearty push the boat groaned along the coarse sand, commiting itself into the waves with a splash. Beat by the waves it lingered for a time. The guards pushing it out further into the contemptuous waves. The gathering watched as they flew above the lapping waves. Pushing it out until it could find a current and be carried off. Ridding itself and the body from their Republic. It took time, and by the time the guards rose into the sky to return they were already dim spots on a graying sky.

The stallion priest who had delivered his eulogy did not make any pretended efforts to consolation the meager body present on the beach. It was clear that many were embarrassed and done enough with Blea that they'd rather turn and forget. Slowly Iliousis turned his back on the sea, walking up the beach with the few mourners.

“Where do you think his body will end up?” someone said from behind, cold and distant. The coarse thunderous tone brought Iliousis to stop, turning to the speaker. Alongside him walking a tired old Patrician.

“What do you mean?” Iliousis asked. The patrician was Keimonas Imisios. His green coat was graying, flaked with tufts of gray fur. His wings tattered and tired. His head reclined to bow forever on his long boney neck.

“He would not be the first coffin I have seen floated off.” the tired old buck smiled weakly, “Sometimes if you fly up and down the coast a few days or a week after you'll find them again. There's no committing them to a heavenly kingdom. We just push breeds like us off and forget they ever existed.”

“I see...” Iliousis mumbled uncomfortably, turning up the bank to follow the group as a straggler.

“If you're to be Despot, I imagine you will be dealing with plenty more bodies, my lord.” Keimonas continued as he followed suit, “And perhaps you might fly down the coast someday and find my own coffin, caught in some weeds or broken against the rocks near the Satyr Coast.”

“It'll be unfortunate if I do.” the Doge to be laughed, “What would you have me do then with your body, if I should find it?”

“Well, I do not expect much thought to be given of my corpse, as I now do give so little of others'. I could be washed far south to the Kingdom of Aeschion, and what bit of me has not been pecked clean by the birds will be burned in an effigy of those accursed Satyr's disdain for us.” he growled, “And the waves are picking up, I feel a northern wind. If our brothers pushed him far enough out I might make a bet our disdainful Blea will be on the shores of King Amegnos by the storm's passing his shores.”

Keimonas looked out down the shore, where along a distant outcrop sat several distance figures. Hunched over themselves much unlike the equine form of the Pegasi. “We could have committed his body to the Satyrs as glue for them.” he nodded in contempt, “Like so many slaves and prisoners. It would have brought the last inevitable chapter of his story quicker.”

“What about the offense from his family?” Iliouses pointed. The soft brush of palm leaf brushed his side as they trotted up the hill and to the dirty beaten hoof path to the city, “I would have challenged anyone directly at alongside my father's body if he was committed to the lowest funeral.”

“You are young, so I no doubt you would!” Keimonas laughed, “And I am old. I probably will not see the end of next winter. If I will be killed now for suggesting we burned and crushed his remains, then do it now. Bring the inevitable to me sooner so I will no longer wait.

“I already can not fly, and my hooves are worn and sore. Simply standing on the beach I was sure I would loose these too. Then you would have to beat in my head on the spot. But that wouldn't be hard, I don't doubt it's as soft as a gourd.” even as morbid as it was, Keimonas held a cheery demeanor. He was happy, if dark.

“What happens is our life, Iliouses.” he said, “Not our death. What we do carries for generations. Not how we die. We like what we do. Not how we go.”