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Hugo The Headless

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"W...what?!" Marcus stumbles, dropping his glass of wine on the ground, in such a state of shock that he his unaware even that it shatters across the floor. He ran, scrambling across the cobbled road to the red keep, he enters at a dash and proceeds up the stairs to comfort his cousin in her time of mourning.

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Camile was in Peremont when she received the news, due a temporary stay in the de Bar keep. She heard the Amyas men surrounding her with cheering and victory chants, as Camile was the only person to keep silent underneath all the shouting.

 

Despite Hugues' wrath towards her brother, Camile felt a loss in the Duke's death. Mere conversations have occurred in the past with him, and she found him a pleasant company to be with. No hatred was sent to the Duke for his war claim on the throne, but only disappointment filled this blank space for her. The Princess continued to idly stare at the wooden flooring beneath her feet, presumably thinking about the Duke's death.

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Eric sobs in Barrowyk, the cowards had first taken The Pontiff and now The Duke.

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August mourns the loss of a great individual to another of the royal family's typical assassinations, but knows that one man's loss doesn't spell the loss of the passions of thousands. After crossing his heart with the sign of the Lorraine, the elderly councilor grunts as he lowers himself into his wheeled chair, and makes his way to the Cathedral of St. Lothar in Brelus to cast his vote for the Coalition's next leader.

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Caspar de Gueux dips his head, taking a minute of silence for the deceased foe.

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Awful end to an equally awful conflict, Goldworthy thought to himself, his cloak hung over halfling's small frame like a curtain signalling the end of an act. Not even in his brazen temper would he consider being irrespectful to Hughes' gruesome death.

With more bitter, sour thoughts clawing their way through his tired mind, the certain midget departs for Winter Oak, equally eager to spread the news, and spiteful in knowledge of what those news entail.

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Drago sits slumped in the corner of the tavern, a half finished bottle of vodka clutched in his hands. His eyes are dry and red, all his tears already shed for the man who raised him from his lowly peasant status to a proud Steward of Brelus and successful businessman.

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Draud had been there on the tragic day, at the Cathedral. He heard commotion, so he walked in there, but this would be nothing what he what expected -- Hugo, headless, on the alter. He had gasped and fell back, trembling at the gruesome sight.

 

He had looked upon the corpse of Hugo. "What had he possibly done to deserve this? Nothing," he simply stated, with tears in his eyes, still glaring at the body.

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Brann while still on his escort duty with her Highness Camile had bowed his head in silence as the news hit. On his return his forge sat cold and devoid of the once sweltering heat, a day of mourning and silence in the fall of while yes a rebellious man, but still an Orenian man.

"A shame, good men's blood spilt for political strife."

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The assassin swiftly fled the city with the King in the East's head.

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Moric seemed unaffected by news, but deep down his mind slipped that little bit more.

 

when he was alone he said to himself, "Well then, I suppose that's what happens to all those who challenge life"

 

He then put his head in his hands and said "I suppose you were just like me Hugo, just a man who tried and failed, at least I didn't kick the bucket, poor Hugo"

 

He cried himself to sleep that night

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The young Fyodor Vladov weeps for the death of his uncle.

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

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