The End of a Tale

[Fishy 2709]

18th of Malin’s Welcome, 1539

 

He stared at the ceiling of his bedchamber, reclined into a pillow stuffed with wool. His back red with bed sores and his once close cropped pepper colored beard now shaggy and gray. ‘Twas the same as all mornings had been, since he had been confined to his quarters due to his failing health and advancing age early on during the winter.

“How long had he been here?” He pondered, first thinking to his surroundings then to his decades upon the continent. Twitching a wrinkled hand, he remembered the strength of his youth, the surety he could place upon the meat of his arms and his comrades’. He recalled his wars, the battles fought in the name of Emperor or King, from the days of a seemingly “Random Recruit” to that of a knightly entourage. He pulled his covers closer as if to kindle the memories, smiling in grim remembrance of his other battles. Tracing the scar of twin cuts running down his right cheek, his battle with the Bruxae flashed before his eyes as well as his memory of the men who trained him to fight such dark aberrations. He smiled proudly upon his service to the Order of the Flaming Rose. His memories then brought him before the demon, a creature of stoneskin and enormous size, its tail long and barbed. To his left and right he saw those who stood beside him that day, their visages darkened. Within the flash of an instant, he felt himself striking the hellish beast’s tail clean off once again and the rush of glory that followed in his knighting. That tingle of pride transformed into the assault of Kaer Angren, racing down the corrupted citadel's corridors with his comrades, hacking through whatever abomination presented itself before them.

The recollections would be brought to an end, however as the door to his chamber would creak open. His Horen wife of five years, Louisa entered the room, though nearly half his age, her gray-blue eyes were beset by the slight wrinkleage of age and the redness of sorrow. She crept toward the bed, clutching a square of silk with tears in her eyes. He lifted up the covers for her to lay beside him before he tucked his frail limbs beneath the sheets and embraced her. From the ajar doorway, he felt two small eyes of peridot fall upon his sickly state, they were those of his firstborn, Reinholt, a boy of four. The door slowly slid to a close and he shut his eyes, falling back onto the pillowed surface. His mind was tormented by a tempest of regrets, of what could’ve been or of what he should’ve done differently. He squeezed the shoulder of his wife, slipping into unconsciousness, the maelstrom subsiding as death came for him and he embraced it.

 

Foltest of Aeldin died with a smile.

 

((PK’d.))

[Fishy 2709]

 

 

[Mephistophelian 977]

((Don't have anything IC to say, but this was beautifully written))

[Stump 709]

((oh goddamn
BUT I THOUGHT FOLTEST WAS ETERNAL?
..crap, age is coming for me next.))

An aged Countess sits idly by in the keep Castle Geldern of Drusco, and though she'd not been too affected by the well-deserved rest for the old knight, his death brought forth thoughts of mortality. Too grim for such a cheery time, the flaxen-haired noblewoman noted to herself, adjusting the blanket on her frail shoulders.

[Pureimp10 5691]

((Can't say we've really talked too much, but holy crap this was beautifully written.))

 

Britannus Vanir holds a moment of silence for his fallen comrade.

[Sultan 3953]

"May you rest easy my friend and teacher, I shall take care of your child, as you took-care of me"

[lawnmowerman 3040]

Ser Athirius the Fourth welcomes Foltest to the seven skies with a sun's smile.

[Monomakhos 1849]

Clothair de Bar sheds a tear for the fallen hero.

[Abeam 511]

Another hero of Kaedren weaves his way into the pattern of fate, and through the actions of the brave Foltest of Aeldin, his legend will live on in the memory of that most martially skilled of Orenian States.

[Esterlen 4499]

"What a pity," offers the Emperor, John, shuffling through a stack of dire missives, "Lord Foltest...a man to be admired, yes, without any doubt on that. Lord Rothesay, see to it that he's provided with a funeral for a man befitting his position." 

[Leric 1097]

"Rest easy, my friend." Leric would murmur quietly whilst his digits padded over the ring of the Rhoswenii, a sigh escaping his lips.  "Few of us remain."

[CheekyNolan 5420]

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