Mortem

[Porko 397]

 

 

With a resounding shout, Veryn surged up the rubble, sword brandished as arrows whizzed by overhead. The good men of Oren charged upon the demolished fortress, the stouts desperately launching projectiles to halt the advance. Heat licked the rugged soldier’s visage as alchemist’s fire erupted to his right, screams emanating from the explosion. Armored bodies began to fall limp, riddled with arrows as they tumbled to the ground. Teeth gritted, the Savoyard continued his rush through the gore. With greaves firmly planted on the piles of stone and gravel, he ascended to the peak of the mountain of refuse. His digits curled tightly around the hilt of his blade, moving to run the dwed through.

 

           

The brave soldier was met with a wave of arrows, his body soon joining the figures falling to the bloodstained grass. Veryn’s body heaved with each breath, trembling as he limped away from the hopeless conflict, joining the Orenian retreat. The remaining humans scattered from the remaining dwarves, who pumped their puny fists in celebration of their first victory since the Empire’s offensive.

 

 

With weak footing, Veryn approached the Castle of Geldern within Drusco, the imposing structure looming above him. His body shuddered with each step as he moved across the courtyard. Crimson fluid dripped from his wounds, creating a red trail behind him. As the guard found the door to the inner courtyard, he raised a balled fist to knock. Only a soft sound, infrequent and weak, reached his comrade’s ears. Lord Denis of the House Ashford de Bar opened the door, greeting Veryn with clear worry. A weak gaze was the only response offered to the noble, fearful eyes relaying a message only a fellow warrior would understand. The soldier moved his feet to step forward, but simply crumpled to the ground.

 

 

Veryn lay limp before Denis, the wounded soldiers of Savoy diverting their attention and approaching the null figure. The brazen Ashford turned the body over, Veryn’s blank expression offering no response to the men’s worried questions. His eyes gazed into eternity, lids soon shut by Denis in a gesture of respect. No breath escaped the once proud soldier’s lips, no more resounding shouts released. Slain during his prime, the grizzled man finally seemed at peace. 

 

 

 

Edited December 20, 2015 by Porkchops

[Rig 17591]

Kairn rests in a seat, a furtive expression etched on his otherwise stone cold features. There had been many losses at the failed siege, and he had lost many men and comrades as the seemingly endless wave of Orenians surged up the hill to their demise. He wondered to what extent the Empire had been defeated, before setting off to rest. 

[Malocchio 983]

Upon news of the passing of Veryn Strann, whom was a dear friend of the Emiress, Saharfajhari would slip onto the floor of her sandstone abode, when she was entirely alone and away from all. Utter heartbreak made itself apparent on the visage of the Qali, trembling digits moving up to cover her dampened eyes as she sobbed softly into her sun-kissed hands. "Oh, Allah... Why have you taken my rafiqi from this land?" she whines softly, her obsidian locks clinging to her soaked cheeks. For many hours, the face of the Savoyard lingered through the tainted mind of the woman, whom remained alone for hours upon hours due to locking herself in her own room. Saharfajhari's heart was undoubtedly shattered to the grave news, multiple feelings of regret taking over the broken woman who continually disacknowledged all who crossed her in the streets as she made her way to the mosque. 

 

For the rest of that Saint's day, the Qalasheen remained in the holy place, on her knees, lithe hands clasped together and pressed tightly against her chest. A few prayers would be sent upwards, for she was hopeful that her dearest rafiqi would guard her for the rest of the years she might live through. 

 

"Rest well, Veryn. You've finally mastered the game of gaze. Now, teach me it from the Skies- for it is quite obvious you are much more skilled than I, rafiqi. I'll never forget your kind heart..."

Edited December 20, 2015 by Malocchio

[Endovelicus 614]

Jürgen frowns deeply. "Not even ein greeting since I came back from mein hermitage..." The Waldenian would then proceed to salute his old comrade. "May you rest vell in zhe company auf Gott kamerad."

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O13h2A4v6kQ

[_Stigwig 1510]

Denis had been there at the battle: a bloody quagmire of flaming shot and mounting bodies. A sky blotted black with bodkins and ferrum-tipped arrows that pierced through the plate of advancing forces to a screeching, screaming halt. Piles of bodies - piles of corpses that slowly oozed congealing blood. His blade had swung, harsh steel sliding off harsher plate; more arrow shafts bouncing off his pauldrons.

 

Yet, for all the misery that he had seen, he had not seen Veryn fall.

 

It had come as a shock to the Ashford, then, when the wounded and battered soldier made his ways to the worn gates of Geldern, under whose arches had passed so many living, dying, dead. The experience had seemed almost normal for Denis, numbed as he was to suffering, as he had gently traced his fingers through the blood that lay around the man; softly closed his eyes. As he raised from his knees and watched Brann weep, as he had turned away from the morbid sight.

 

Then, it was done.

[dandan1350 479]

The elderly knight had led many he commanded to their end but none had hit so hard as this. A brother had finally fallen in battle and though the sight of blood he was accustomed to it was the paled face he was not. Brann broke down as he gripped the fallen brothers shawl, shaking his lifeless corpse in hopes of response as he barked out in desperation. "I did not say you could rest, brother Strann!" His voice weak and croaking as he threatened to break. "You're not allowed to die!" He finally broke as his forehead rested on the bloody plate of the fallen warrior and he broke out into a weeping mess. "Not like this.." He barely managed out as the others within Peremonts walls began to turn away from the demoralizing sight of the weeping knight as he held his lifeless friends corpse in his arms.

 

The body was removed soon after and given the proper funeral of an Esheveurd brother as Brann was no where to be seen for many days after, his sorrows drowned as his oath was broken and the man finally tasted his first drop of alcohol within his lifetime to soothe the pain that that day had brought him.

Edited December 20, 2015 by Brann Marwood

[Ricky 321]

For Thrask his silence had made him few friends but of those who took him in, trained him, fought alongside him one remains, his sense of duty and reserve has always been overcome by his loyalty and love to his Brothers. Of all the mercenaries who joined Marwood in the Band Veryn was one of those closest to Thrask. Not that anyone other than Brann would even care to know but this has hit Thrask harder than losing his tongue in questioning what his life is made of now. In the Band Thrask made relationships with his Brothers that would last a lifetime, but lifetimes... they can be short. A fear stands in his heart of being the last man standing guard in the palace of Ashford, silently guarding shadows and memories.

[CheekyNolan 5420]

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