Wolf in Sheeps Clothing

A body lay lifeless on an unlit pyre in the center of a marble floor spanning what seems like miles in the Cathedral of the Masses. Eyelids sown shut in an 'x' pattern. Ornate stone columns in rows every ten feet. They reach upwards into the heavens where they eventually meet the ceiling. Along the outer perimeter wall there were gaps near the roof for letting air in and out of the building. Designed this way for holding funeral pyres inside and allowing the smoke to escape freely.

A priest stands in front of the pyre with hands raised. Quelling the crowd among him. The crowd that’s come to pay respects and say their goodbyes to the departed laying before them. Sniffles and sobbing echo through the massive holy place. The man on the pyre was a warrior. He was slain while defending his homeland from raiders. He owned a farm just on the outskirts of the village. Along with the ‘x’ sown into his eyelids there was also a long and very lethal wound on his chest that was stitched up postmortem. The crowd however cannot witness this as it is covered by his funeral best.

“We stand here today honoring our fallen brother.” The priest says, voice booming back off the intricate designs etched into the stone walls. “This man gave his life protecting our town.” The priest continued with his canned speech he would give at almost every funeral held in the city. The citizens appreciated the comfort non the less.

As the priest’s rhetoric came to a close, he dramatically spun towards the pyre whipping his dark robes in a twirl. He raised a hand in a claw like fashion with eyes shut tightly. He was chanting something under his breath and suddenly his clawed hand burst into a green flame. The citizens watching had seen the practice of cleric magic at previous funeral ceremonies. The priest shoved his hand deep into the pillowy tinder surrounding the pyre and the whole thing exploded into a bright green fire. The crowd flinched and squinted as they watched in amazement at the awesome holy power, faces flickering in green tint from the light.

“With this holy flame I release you!” The priest shouts into the air as if pleading to the sky above.
A shadow of the dead man on the pyre started lifting from his body slowly as if freeing itself from a cocoon. It sat up and hovered slowly above the priest.

The priest stood arms wide open displaying the full intricacies of the purple embroidery on his black vestiges. He looked up towards the floating shadow and spoke in a deep voice as if only for him to hear, “Through me you shall reach god.” With that, the priest opened his mouth wide, and the shadow was pulled down in like smoke inhaled. He slowly turned towards the crowd of sorrow, faces still scintillating with green light. As the flames died, he spoke solemnly, “His soul has now passed, and he has been welcomed into the planes beyond.”