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[h3]⛼ O7 - Outskirts of Oratorio ⛼[/h3][/center]
The gravekeep stared for a few beats at the collector, thinking over what he’d said. Adventurer’s District would be a good place, true enough, and even if the people there had little interest in actually burying their dead, keeping it was a good start. They’d have a want to record, remember, to know, and that was the real need in his eyes. Of course, what his job might be in that hierarchy was uncertain, as uncertain as everything else, but it was a good enough start to the job. The gravekeep nodded a few times, mouth wry at the whole of the situation.

“I see. There’s always work, then,” he sighed, fingers tapping irregular on the tome at his belt. The Adventurer’s District would be a good enough place, and doubtless would largely be burying those same people, but that always assumes that the body was recovered. There would be those groups who fell in total, groups who could be recovered…groups whose gear could turn to gold and so fund the great mission. It would be hard, true, and dangerous…though it would have some benefit. There could yet be a place in the machine that the faith might be fulfilled, the mission accomplished, and the dead remembered.

“Thank you for your time. Might I have your names?”

A look passed between the collectors. They weren’t used to being spoken to; locals eschewed them and their trade. They were even less used to folk asking for names. The question hung in the air. The older one was the first to break it as he sucked his tooth thoughtfully, words somewhat careful, somewhat uncertain. It was odd enough, something that gave pause and question in return as to the why of it.

“Garbeck. And that’d be Terry.”

The gravekeep smiled, nodding slightly. “Thank you. May your work be light.”

With that, he turned, and the group made its way from the two collectors, their cart of forgotten dead, and on to the Adventurer’s District further into the city, intent fixed to find such folks who burned bodies, such folks who recorded the dead.