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<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-r">20 on the D100 vs DC2. No incidents in assuming control of the skeletons!</span></span>
You affix the lantern at the end of the staff that you've carved, hooking its thin wire bail into a notch carved to cling to it snugly. It comes alight with the curl of your fingers into the shape of a candle's flame, a quiet orison upon your lips. It flickers to life with a glow the color of a candle's flame, an orange that has been kissed with white. Against the light of the afternoon sun, it is a dim thing, but you do not need the flame to be bright.
With a silent prayer spoken in your heart, you curl your fingers into the fourth of seven letter in the Lord of Light's name. The color of the glowing bone begins to shift from warm to cool, passing through the yellow of the golden sun and coming to settle at the middle color: green.
It is the Color of Faith. It is the balancing point between the extremes of red and violet, at the center of the visible spectrum. According to the doctrine preached by the Church of Light, it stands above the other Seven Virtuous Colors in its supreme importance.
For without Faith in the Lord of Light or one of his Thousand Faces, even the most pure-hearted soul can only live a life of heresy.
In the absence of green light, the purest white light would instead shine with a color that does not exist. A delusion created by the human mind, as it struggles to comprehend the absence of green: that little heresy named magenta.
The lantern sways gently upon its bail as you raise the staff on high. Unlike the lantern-bearing rod you used for the Last Parade each Soulsmarch in your youth, there are no silver rings set upon the wire holding up the lantern to jingle like bells with every step. With the staff held in both hands, and the lantern held on high, you approach the festival of bones... and Damien's continued attempts to wrangle them.
"Aaaaaaaaaand <span class="mu-i">this way</span>, lads!" Damien uses his hooked daggers like the batons of a watchman directing traffic. With sweeping, exaggerate motions, he tries to scoop them all up and point them towards the Tower. "Come on, I said this way, people, <span class="mu-i">this way</span>..."
One of the skeletons rattles at him with such contempt that Boric can't help but snort in laughter. You try to maintain a bit more decorum than that, but all the courtly grace in the world cannot keep your lips from curling into a smile.
"Oh <span class="mu-i">come on</span>, now the stick-in-the-mud is laughing at me..." Damien slumps over with great exaggeration, earning himself a few rattling chuckles from the skeletons that are listening to him. With a sigh of long suffering, he gets back up tries to reason with them, saying, "Look, I <span class="mu-i">know</span> you're all glad to see the kids, but I <span class="mu-i">also</span> know that those pretty skulls of yours ain't empty. You've <span class="mu-i">got</span> to remember the contract we made, aren't you all obligated to follow it if you want to stay around?"
