An Old Man's Passing.

[Temp 2006]

An oddly pleasant feeling to an elderly man, Thersist found himself surrounded by familiar walls of a keep long since forgotten. He looked to a small book, the words faded, nearly non-existent and yet, the words were known. A book he'd forgotten about, one of his family's traditions and teachings. A pitiful effort at clinging to what once was but had faded and was quickly erased by the ceaseless approach of time. Thersist forces himself to rise from a chair in the corner stall he'd often found himself in, the smell of assorted baked goods and varying meats briefly filling his nostrils. Side eyeing a faceless figure in a Rose tabard, he continued out of the small room of tables and chairs. Carefully sliding the door shut behind himself, Thersist turns to find himself in a long hall before two thrones, crown rested atop a seat and the other barren. 

 

As he approaches the thrones, laughter and outcries of 'bald' echo throughout the hall, oddly distant and without precise origin. Turning from the throne and glancing about the hall, he finds not a single figure, just a flight of steps and gateway to a large courtyard, water consuming the vast majority of the space. Nodding slowly, he looks back to the thrones, two figures in Rose tabards flanking another man in the same. The flanked figure stares to the thrones, hands bound. Smirking, Thersist remembered Crestfall and the figure before him had been accused of sleeping with the Count's wife.

Shaking his head, Thersist made an effort to approach the throne, blinking only once. As his eyes opened, he found himself in a large forest made city, carcasses lining the streets and the sounds of war encompassing his entirity. Something odd began to occur, he could feel his breaths becoming more shallow and slower with each breath. Forcing himself on, he moves from the ruined city and halts at a large river. Struggling to draw breath, he places a foot into a shallow portion of the river, immediately falling into what had been an impossibly large ocean. Slowly sinking, Thersist simply stared to the surface and accepted his fate, his limbs no longer responding to his commands. As he sank deeper an odd thing occured, a hand firmly grasped at his left shoulder and roughly shook his figure. Turning to look to the figure, he found himself aboard a ship in the Exodus. The ship was lined with figures he'd recognized. Many of them men of Oren and of the Rose. Only growing more tired with time, Thersist staggered across the deck, approaching a figure he'd remembered, it's name escaping his mind.

He hadn't made it half way across the deck when he'd collapsed. He'd attempted to force himself to rise but without progress. His strength faded and his breaths were but a struggled wheeze. As he stared unto the deck's surface, unable to move, a familiar voice spoke out, "Thersist, you look like shite. Come, rest." Gathering the last bit of his strength, Thersist forces himself onto his back, the figure stood over him, faceless but adorned in clothing fit for a king. He'd reached for the figure, no longer breathing and the figure simply stared. The world began to fade and darken and the effort to reach the figure became a desperate push. Feeling himself fading, there was a slight instance of warmth, the figure taking grip of his hand and as quickly as it came, it faded.


----

 

Thersist died in his sleep, leaving no instruction for matters of inheritence or will.

((Blank-slating come 4.0  Be seeing everyone then.))

[Galendar 631]

The spirit of Alexander nods as another great image in the Empire falls and ascends to the seven skies.

[Supremacy 3361]

Kalenz twitches in irritation as he hears of Temp's passing, he whispers quietly "kaean'leh evareh, kaedreni". Albeit not much, this is certainly more of a reaction than any other human's passing ever elicited in the Sohaer.

[ACanadianCraft (Nate) 682]

Jullius' stints of sobriety increase in length as more of his comrades pass away.
Fifty minutes spent without a drink in his hand, in which he took time to recall old memories from Krak Du Rhoswen.
He was one of the first to whitness the glorious sheen of Temps freshly shaven head.

He chuckled fondly, much to his grandsons surprise. Rarely did he chuckle to himself any more.
"I'm torn! Yet another brother dead,
but at least I won't have to be worried about him accusing me of witchcraft!"
He shakes his head, with a twinge of sorrow, and continues living.

[Lvke 1000]

Morris weeps biter tears, his own bald head shining in the light of the sinking sun.

[Snake Plissken 637]

Vulpes Roke silently leads the men of the 48th Company to the front of the Marked Hall, lining them up in two ranks, each with a crossbow in his arms. The bard Jaskier stands to the side, lifting his trumpet to his mouth and beginning to play.

As the bard finishes, the men load and raise their crossbows, firing into the air in unison. They reload and fire again twice before lowering their weapons for a minute of complete silence. After the minute is up, Roke leads his men away once more, not a single word having been spoken throughout the ceremony.

[problematic z 477]

 

 

Adeon had tried his best to ignore the nagging sense of worry he had been feeling in Thersist's absence, he had been hearing mixed reports, some said Temp was alive and well while others told him of an unfortunate accident. He wanted to find out for himself. It was Gerald Elgan that told him the news, his words took some time to sink in.

"Died like an old man, he stopped breathing in his sleep."

"What?"

"Natural causes, sir, nothing we could've done about it."

The Tribune refused to believe it, he went straight to the crypt  to see Thersist's body for himself and locked the doors, it was here he would stay until the funeral.

[Peter Chivay 2494]

The former Emperor greets his old friend in the after life.

[Avacyn 1712]

"rip in pieces tempp" - harry briarwood

[Abeam 511]

And so, once more, another hero of the most recent age passes on to the Ethereal, where they relive the days of glory.  One by one the mighty White Rose wilts it's petals, and with each small part of the flower, Oren as a whole reels with a loss as great as a legion.  Within the constraints of time and space, Alexei Nicodemus, somewhere, welcomes his comrade of old, and they drink and make merry as if nothing had changed since.

[Glyc 234]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.