After a good deal of time, an improvised variation on funeral rites was done by me for Meladori, in the Inn. A combination of personal, Herald, and Arial views into a personal farewell.

As it would appear in my personal journal, then the emotes of what happened, including the unrelated but fitting fire echos.

As I was in the Monastery of Moudrilar today, debating with the monks, I noticed the nearby presence of someone I knew, sitting alone somewhere I didn't know could be reached. I went to see her, and through her tears discovered the death of an old friend, the oldest living mortal I personally knew, Meladori. After my tears broke, we talked a few moments, and she suggested we retire to the Inn. So, Mossi led my feathery mess of a self there. We talked about Meladori between ourselves and others who were there. While I was curled up on the couch with a wing covering my face to hide the wet feathers, I had an idea.

I arose and made my way to the fireplace, where I tore out one of my wing feathers, and carefully lit it on the flames. Though it may have been a signal of other Herald dealings, the flames flickered and shortly turned green, the feather color of some of my ancestors. I held the burning feather between my fingers until it began to singe them, then released it to the fire, where it floated up into the heavens.

It was then that I whispered my farewell to her soul, hoping she would see the message I was sending that one day, some way, I intend to see her again. Shortly, I dried my tears, knowing her soul was at peace, and that my time of mourning was nearly done. I will never forget her, an excellent friend, a fellow Herald, and a wonderful woman with a heart the size of a dragon's egg.

Akanten yanks out a wing feather.
Akanten ignites the feather in the flames.
The flames of the tale-telling fire flicker and fade briefly, as if caught by a gust of wind.
The flames of the tale-telling fire leap and flare, turning a warm emerald green.
Akanten waits to release it until his fingers get singed.
Akanten watches the flame drift up the chimmeny.
You whisper 'Goodbye, may our souls meet again.'
Akanten wipes his eyes dry.
You say 'I'm better now.'