The Lotharingian Lament

[Arteh 1837]

 

 

“For all my toils, an empty home to lie ill within.”

 

On an Island, in a Castle high above the lands, a man sat secluded from all. His wary eyes looked over the peaceful land; the golden sea in front of him only making clearer his lost fortunes.

 

A long time had passed since he entered the world, and out of it he was going with nothing but a heavy heart and an encumbered mind. No motion was without strain as he meandered about the silent halls of the keep on Metz’s plateau, his eyes ever scanning the portraits of passed Lotharingian rulers. Most often he would reflect as he looked on Augustus, the founder of the lands he strove so hard to serve well.

____

 

Quiet murmurs turned to loud roars, empty mugs soon clashing so loudly against one another that they would spill over. More grand times, which had inspired this pride.

 

Illustrating great and glorious battles in his mind, the young boy watched the Imperial army celebrate as they celebrated victory. Trading places with any of them would be a dream come true for the young Otto, but his time would come.

 

No celebration was too great to cease in respect, though, as Augustus d’Amaury strode into the room. With a broad smile and a bow of his head, the men standing to attention sat in silence. Jovial and energetic, he bobbed between his soldiers to congratulate each personally. No man was spared from a positive remark, nor was any boy; Otto looked upon Augustus as he looked down to him. Like a giant scooping up a rabbit, Augustus heaved the boy quickly onto his shoulder and let him look down upon all that he had respected, all he had dreamed of.

 

“You will have a place at these tables, will you not?” Augustus would holler to the boy for all his men to hear.

 

Looking around, the boy was dazed as the men hooted and jeered for the young lad. He gestured at the end of a table, overwhelmed. “A seat is open there, maybe I could fill it!”

 

Another wave of laughter and boasting went throughout the ranks as the boy felt embarrassed. Augustus only spoke quietly, his demeanour not changing as he gestured to it.

 

“That is where officers are seated. Maybe you have a leader’s intuitions.”

 

____

 

Striding quickly throughout the halls of Anapalais, a man strode quickly with furrowed brows. No time to rest was afforded any Lotharingian, nevermind the chief of Lorraine. With a beckon, some of the most powerful men would join his company. The only one who could beckon him was the Emperor John I ‘The Relentless’, and on this day he did.

 

The tension of the room was shattered with Augustus’ entrance. John stood up quickly, his finger raising as he hollered the day's issues aloud. Though he had been known for his unending energy and tenacity, his d’Amaury brother could bring him to pause. To many, he was seen as the brother who brought Imperial Brotherhood into fruition; the many others, he was a man whose power and treachery could not be combatted. No matter who had dealt with him, they dealt on his terms out of either fear or respect.

 

Where the will of John was unmatched, Augustus’ strength was its only comparable equal. It was the Emperor who built the Empire and the back of Lorraine, and it was only the Archduke who could weave a land together strong enough to support such a weight.

 

Such massive heights could only be supported by the best roots; the embodiment of the Great Golden Oak found itself growing so beautifully in the Holy Orenian soil.

 

Of the day, one issue arose; a conspiracy carried out over harsh taxing by the disenfranchised Savoyard peoples. Too straightforward to deal with the Auveringians, John could only give into his Arch-Chancellor’s suggestion to take to talking rather than fighting. In his own guarded way, he thanked his friend Augustus between insulting his enemies. He returned them in kind, but with less animosity.

 

Though many ought to worry for holding their liege in contempt, Augustus had honour and prestige enough to pay for the transgressions in kind for what his service in the Reformed Kingdom of Oren had earned him. To do well by both his loyalty to his friend and Emperor, and by his marriage and relation to Savoy, he set off quickly to guide Oren righteously once again.

 

____

 

Despite his sluggishness, Ser Otto draped himself in the heaviest comforter he could find as he traversed to the dining room of the keep. To his dismay, he saw not even the cook had enough will to serve his duties following the news of defeat. At least, to ease Otto’s chagrin, they had left him plenty of grains, oats, and wine.

 

Fables were spun about the Lotharingian liver. It was told that if a sea had been made of ale, the Archduchy of Lorraine would only claim it to drain it. While warring, they would see distilleries and wineries sprout up all around their field armies, the Auveringian tastes ensuring the success of the merchants long after the men had left. Some said that the soldiers so merrily drank, that they spilt most of what they intended to drink in the many different cheers they would call out.

 

But these were more than just fables. Otto remembered, but no mind was paid to that.

 

Despite his illness, he ate sparsely, his hands taking to the bottles and his eyes to their labels. He feared honesty with his Emperor about his state, he feared his enemies learning of his vulnerability. The feeble hands grasping at something he had held when his grip was a vice; only ridicule was reserved for him now that he could not hold the weight of the world.

 

None cared for his bravery, his achievements, nor what he still had. Behind him were the days he could share in others company, the days where he commanded respect. Abandoned by many, he took to the company of only himself now. Whether anyone would lend him any was no longer something he had sway in deciding.

 

The aging man nearly wept, gripping the neck of the bottle as if he were to throttle it, his rage becoming arbitrary in his sad solitude. So certain in his history, his direction, his Empire, that in all being proven wrong, he had nothing assuring him he was right.

 

He thought on the days when he was just a boy, being hoisted high by titans in his own mind. He thought on the days where men looked to him as a grand and gorgeous knight, who held so much respect that he would have to juggle it to appease all who seen him. He thought on the days when he had toiled with his brothers and friends, assuring great things were built in the place of wasted opportunity.

 

He thought on the days when he had none of these concerns, these memories. Everything pained him. To even remember better times, he had to contrast them to the current situation he had at hand. Lethargically, he meandered in a daze, hoping to encounter any who still stood with him. John d’Amaury had been coming with an army, some said, others believing it was Jacques’ tormented soul which drove away the citizens in the first place.

 

Whatever evil, Otto would now welcome it.

 

If only to have something to confide in, to listen, to interact, anything.

 

Like a ghost, he wandered back up the halls, peering about aimlessly as he drank. It was almost as if there was writing on the wall, but he could just not manage to read it; his pride made him illiterate. But some things were understood by any who were not mad, and his cause for Oren had lost all strength.

 

In his study, he sat himself at his desk, readied to write a letter. To whom he wasn’t sure, but something had to be said. Nothing was done in holding out, as all preferred to let him remain.

 

Closing his eyes, he imagined when he was a child, before he had been thrust into the world of men. Basking in the Golden sea outside his study, across the river surrounding Metz, outside of Summerhall, of Plevne. Like grain, Lorraine had maintained many, and survived without decay for a long time.

 

But whence decay set in, what was to overturn such fortunes?

 

Ser Otto sat quietly, huddled quietly in the blanket cloaking him. His hand now had to mend as it smashed, akin to his idol. Whether or not he would even admit there was an error to his ways, he didn’t know, but that was far less important than continuing to do what he felt was right. Taking the quill, he wrote a letter to Archduke John d’Amaury, reading as follows;

 

To His Exalted Grace John d’Amaury,

 

You have proved yourself better guided than I in your recent days, as my compatriots now all seem to agree with the idea of turning cloak to at least flee. More powerful is this coalition than I thought, as not even GOD seems to intervene while churches prop themselves up against Canon.

 

Mine is to not tell you yours though; it is to give you yours. Perhaps it was I who was wrong to think that Metz, that Lorraine, would be anything other than a fertile desert without the righteous rule of the d’Amaury family. While taking from you was not the goal, I could not leave in your hands the ability to strike at what had made what we had in the Archduchy legitimate. Perhaps my direction could have been different, but my honour had me act on my values and reason no matter how untrue they were proven.

 

With this though, I send you a key to the city. It is abandoned now by the Imperial Garrison, though I have a man who visits to offer me assistance by to Johannesburg should I choose it. Here I will remain though, and if I survive the time it takes you to return, I will greet you and whatever you have in store for me. Otherwise, I hope you know I had died serving Lorraine how I best knew how.

 

I pray that your uncle doesn’t write ill of me in my passing; I know few who will spare my reputation, but he especially I must request. I sense that he is wroth, despite his rumoured attempts at ensuring a more agreeable peace between the old vassals of the Empire. I wish you both to know of my tremendous respect for you, whether or not you will accept it.

 

Unlikely was it to truly do well by Lorraine ultimately, evicting her people from their homes. More unlikely is it that I’ll escape a reputation as a villain, but I mind that little with how late it is in my life. I only wish to apologize, and for you to know it’s sincere; I have nothing to gain at this point in the fray.

 

Either way, I pray that if I do not see you in this city, that the entirety of Axios does. I hope it is a fitting gem on the crown jewel of Lorraine, and that you wear that jewel for the decades to come. Take care, until then, and my your judgement continue to be so rightly guided. Gold in Peace, Steel in War.

 

In Lorraine’s name,

Ser Otto

 

( Goodbye LoTC, been a long run. I've made a lot of friends and a lot more enemies over the past 5 years, a lot of these friends have now quit, left, some I've entirely lost contact with. I've no longer got the drive in me to play on this server and actually enjoy it. I stopped enjoying it a long time ago. I had actually quit quite a long time ago too, but still was around on an OOC aspect. I've wronged people, doing what I thought was right, and to those people I apologize. I've had countless memories on this server associated with several different people. I started playing when I was 14 and now I am 20, from the Undead, to Dwarves, to Orcs then lastly to Oren. I have nothing against anyone on this server, that all dies from this post. I wish you all the best of luck.

 

- Arteh. )

[Publius 4098]

The old Lotharingian man stifles tears as he tries not to weep with joy at the notion of finally going home. Jacques' would save all he had to say for the man personally, sallying out quickly to Metz to help amend the tragedies that have befallen Lorraine, and finally give a home to his brothers of Savoy.

[Chewy53 5]

Goodbye! Let life treat you well!

[Tsuyose 3285]

His Grace, Philip Louis of Marna furrows his brows as he receives news of the Lotharingian Lament. With a defeated sigh, he'd return back to his Staunton allies and resume work on his Duchy. While Ser Otto was no father, may the foundations of Lorraine forever live on.

 

((You're a great lad, sad to see you go. I hope life bodes well for you, brother.)) 

[mmat 7460]

: (

[InfamousGerman 1553]

((best of luck Arteh

[Mj. 697]

Drogg'Lak remembers better times.

 

((We haven't always been in agreement with eachother, but I consider us friends and regardless, you've earned my respect. o7, Arteh.))

[Tornaedo 1249]

((Best of luck to you man in the future. You were the first person to accept me in to LOTC and introduce me to the server.  Cya next time.))

[osumanduas 1442]

i don't understand why you banned me from the build server, but meh, take care and stay away from the alcohol, I'd like to see you in a healthy state next time I pass through Glasgow 

[Supremacy 3361]

((Good luck Arteh. No ill will, man. At the end of the day— its a game. People can get salty about it in the moment, but no one likes or dislikes anyone)).

[Noer 577]

((Always welcome on the discord, dude. I know there was a time where I disliked you, but it was only because you played the game that all in your position play. I feel no ill will towards you, and I hope you have a healthy, LOTC free future.))

[Andustar 4143]

See ya Arteh, lotc won't be quite the same without you

[Legoboy7984 3155]

(( Arteh, we will miss your typing ))

[Rammer 388]

((We didn't see eye to eye on some things and most of the time on opposite sides both IRP and OOC. But it is always sad when someone leaves and you've done something I feel like I couldn't build up a decently successful duchy and I respect you for that.

[Hedonism 254]

Gereon Christ and 'The Titan of Humanity' bond in the Seven Skies above over a pitcher of ale!

 

(In all seriousness, Today LotC loses one of its proudest players. A man who speaks it as it is and isn't afraid to stick up for what he believes in, even if the odds are stacked against him. He may've had many enemies, but has always been a friend to me, one of the few I'd be willing to say I'm closest with on this server. Best of luck out there, brother. I'll still nag at you daily.)