The Eventide Overturned

[_Stigwig 1510]

THE EVENTIDE OVERTURNED

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLij67M-e1M

 

 

Thin smoke hung over the abandoned battlefield that lay betwixt Brelus and Peremont; carrion circled around the flayed corpses of travellers that fell prey to the bandit groups that inhabited the ruins - armigers that evaded the iron fist of Savoy and regularly burnt and raided poor smallfolk from Summerhall for the meager amounts of riches obtainable from a peasant’s hoard.

 

Cracked and rotten logs had been pushed aside and propped against each other to form a crude oaken doorway through which scores of men had traipsed. Dark, ashen helmets atop dark, ashen surcoats - the only light a golden sun on the breast of each and every man - the Ashford sun. The sun that had led a hundred-thousand men to battle in a hundred wars, and led them to victory.

 

The corps of men had marched across empty meadows and barren fields, past dying trees and verdant undergrowth that knew only the heavy march of mailed boots; had only ever known the heavy march of mailed boots. Vindicators, men of Esheveurd, soldiers beneath Amador, partisans of Ashford and more. A single, solitary banner had fluttered above the marching force - a field of black. Dark black.

 

The centre of this armiger’s column had hid four men: the youthful de Saltpans, thuggish visage brazen; Ser Stonne, wearied and fatigued yet still of a strong build; two footmen elevated from the ranks due simply to their love for their fallen commander, to commemorate his end. Each pair possessed a dull, dark coffin that weighed heavy on the shoulders - coffins that cast off a brooding aura. The coffins of a King, and his son.

 

These slabs were laid down before the feet of their brooding commandant, stormy grey eyes cast over the horizon as the force paused for rest amidst a burnt fort that the Adrians had once inhabited. Hard, pursed lips pulled into a characteristically brooding frown as he returned his gaze to the men before him: rows upon rows of men that found their only unifying creed that of Ashford.

 

Denis de Bar opened his mouth to speak, and paused. A long pause, drawn out not for the benefit of the crowd but rather his own inner musings. Finally, he spoke - tone hushed and reverent yet also one that rose above the crowd, one that scattered watching birds from the branches of trees.

 

“Too many Ashfords have died, whether by battle or sickness or their own cruel hand.

Sergius, who was butchered by murderers that still walk free;

Annabelle and Emelie - forced to take their own lives in the fear of others.

Carden and Adelric, slain by opportunists. Butchered by traitors;

Ferdinand who no-one knows of anymore, who no one but us will remember.

Edmond, who was wounded by Adrians and then fell victim to their wicked assault.”

 

“Guy.. Guy, who lived not long enough to see his nascent dream realised. Who was slain by men that he trusted. Men that we trusted. Guy, who saw his kingdom torn asunder and his plans ripped away from him. Guy, who died a ‘villain’.”

 

“We were the Vindicators then, the men of Ashford. The men of Guy. We have sought vengeance for him, and God himself knows that we have taken it. We knew that our cause was just though; all men have enemies, Guy had many. Yet none of his enemies wronged him so much as in his final hour, in his final breaths! So thus, none of his enemies felt such as those that wronged him did. We avenged him - vindicated him.”

 

“His death has distanced us from the ideals that we once held so core to our hearts, the vision that once rested in the forefront of every man of our company’s thoughts. Despair and stagnation made us weak, made us forget who we were and why we were fighting! Now is a time for a return to long lost ideals, a return to our dreams.

 

“It is the time for us to once more revere the leaders who led us, whether under the banner of the Lorraine or the Sun to such victories! The men whose names will echo throughout the annals of history as those that twist fate itself around them: Gwenael, Richard, Guy.”

 

“Men that do not forget the cause of Guy easily.”

 

The subdued warrior stepped backwards at his final words, a silence falling over the crowd of men as if death itself walked in the midst of the milites. Then, a deafening roar. The slam of a thousand fists against breastplates and stamping feet. The growl of a thousand soldiers saluting their fallen, revered, commander.

 

Edited October 25, 2015 by Stigwig.

[thesmellypocket 1859]

Francois sings "Non nobis, domine."

[Birdnerdy 1539]

"In all honesty, Guy was a poor king." utters a grumpy Marius, an un-vindicated Guy slayer.  "His death was regrettable, but Oren is better for it."

Edited October 25, 2015 by Birdnerdy

[Porko 397]

"Ave." Veryn states solemnly, joining his comrades in the salute.

Edited October 25, 2015 by Porkchops

[Endovelicus 613]

Jürgen, after carrying, with the help of François, Guy's coffin from Peremont to the battle field gave his king one last salute, an waldenian salute. "Blood for Ashford!"

[Proddy 2415]

Richard Antony Ashford de Bar II. would bow his head, eyelids closing over as he’d try to picture the faces of the numerous kinsmen (and kinswomen) he had lost. So many of them had died when he was so young. Guy at age six, Sergius not a few years later. He’d only spoken to cousin Annabel once before her tragic suicide, and he’d never even gotten to properly meet his uncle Carden, only heard tales of him by the word of his mother, father and grandfather. But out of all of them, it was his uncle Adelric he missed the most… he had always been kind to him.

 

Soon enough, the name of his dear, bed-bound mother, Klarisse would be added to the list of the dead and long-gone, the young boy knew.

 

 

“No words, but deeds.” the squire-boy and future Duke of Drusco would mutter the Ashford’s motto aloud with newfound resolute, head lifting with refined dignity and pride. Pressing his fist to his chest in a manner of salutation.

Edited October 25, 2015 by Proddy

[Halsi 381]

Klarisse shed several tears from her room at Drusco, mourning for the loss of her dear friends and family. Unfortunately, the young woman was not present at Guy's obituary, due to the illness that struck her body after birthing her last son, Guy Gweneal de Bar.

[IngrownToenail 7]

Elric proudly beats his fist against his chest, saluting Denis.

[lawnmowerman 3040]

"No no no no no NOOO!" yells a seasoned Adrian!

Edited October 25, 2015 by Guck

[Pureimp10 5691]

Ronald Cassius sits on a log, cleaning his sword while singing a tune to himself.

 

"There is a house in New Orleans..."

[lawnmowerman 3040]

Ronald Cassius sits on a log, cleaning his sword while singing a tune to himself.

 

"There is a house in New Orleans..."

"Suck a chok you little son of damen." the grizzled Raev barks at Ronald upon the log.

[Pureimp10 5691]

"You know, for a little babe, you've got quite the vocabulary. Though, your raevir needs work." the veteran says to the boy.

[Heff 2460]

Ronald Cassius sits on a log, cleaning his sword while singing a tune to himself.

 

"There is a house in New Orleans..."

"Suck a chok you little son of damen." the grizzled Raev barks at Ronald upon the log.

Gregori Barrow gazes at the grizzled raev with curiosity, "You defend the man who THINKS RAEVIR GENOCIDE BEST DAY OF HIS LIFE??"

 

 

 

Death to Ashford shouts Ed, not forgetting the many Vladovs, the Sarkozic, and the High Pontiff who's murderers remain free or were unpunished.

Edited October 26, 2015 by Heff

[Overland 349]

((Bit late, grrr timezones/school grrr))

Sometime after the ceremony, Joachim de Bar, the sole survivor of Guy de Bar’s children, sits alone within the dining hall. Candles flicker and no sound stirs in the temperate evenings typical of Peremont.  In his hand rests a mug of water - a feeble attempt to honour his fallen kin by abstaining from wine much like his father and uncle had done in the days of the Duke's War.

 

In his mind, a peculiar situation took place: the inability to see clearly.  Despite how much he prayed for guidance from the Creator, it did not seem to come despite his status as a Deacon of the Church. A thought lingered in his mind, telling him perhaps he just wasn’t listening. He perceived  that within his hands he held the legacy of Guy, Sergius, and all the others. One could even think that he held the legacy of his father’s Kingdom.

 

And that is no easy burden for a single man, let alone one inexperienced in the world to handle.

 

[lawnmowerman 3040]

"You know, for a little babe, you've got quite the vocabulary. Though, your raevir needs work." the veteran says to the boy.

"Wow, rude, I'm actually the Egyptian  Qalasheen god, Anubis." the 'young' soldier states, frowning beneath his finely crafted jackal mask, gripping his staff. Forcefully.

He'd then flare his nostrils loudly through the mask, spitting out some absolute...

M A D M A N lyrics.

"REMOVE Raev remove Raev.
You are worst raev. You are the Raev idiot you are the Raev smell. return to ruined Adria. to our Kovachev cousins you may come our country. You may live in the hovels….ahahahaha , Carrion we will never forgeve you. Barbanov rascal fug but fug fughole Raev stink Carrion Black ****. Raev genocide best day of my life. Take a bath of dead Raev..ahahahahah BARBANOV WE WILL GET YOU!! do not forget Adria vs Savoyard. Carrion we kill the king , Carrion return to your precious Vekaro….hahahahaha idiot Raev and Barbanov smell so bad..wow I can smell it. REMOVE RAEV FROM THE PREMISES. You will get caught. Savoie+Fournier+Renatus+de Bar=kill Carrion…you will fight no more.

 

Drake Lancefeld alive in Riga , Drake Lancefeld making album of Riga. Fast rap Drake Lancefeld Riga. We are rich and have gold now hahahaha ha because of Drake Lancefeld… you are poor stink Raev… you live in a hovel hahahaha, you live in a yoghurt.

Drake Lancefeld alive number one #1 in Riga ….fug the Carrions,..Fug ashol Raev no good I spit in the mouth eye of your flag and country. Drake Lancefeld alive and real strong wizard kill all the Raev farm women with rap magic now we the Lancefeld rule. Ape of the Courland, Duke Pervical Staunton gucked the great Iblees, Cassandra, and lay egg. This egg hatch and Adria was born. Stupid baby form the egg and give back our clay we will crush you like a skull of pig. Oren greatest country."

 

 

Edited October 26, 2015 by Guck