At Death's End

[lawnmowerman 3040]

 

At Death’s End

 

---

 

 

The harsh wooden floor scratches upon his cheek. It threatened splinters upon his skin as he rolled about, trying to lift himself. Tripped by a damn mouse. He toiled and pushed, but it only seemed to push him deeper into darkness. Into Death’s inviting hall. Pain spread through his body, a numb pain, unlike that of a sword. The fire crackled across the floor, taunting him with its violent and unbound movement. Not a few years ago, he had moved with such grace, such unpredictability, such valor.

 

The Rurikids clashing with Nauzicans outside of Anpalais, C. 1564

 

In the court of John II Sigismund, Holy Orenian Emperor, did the tales arrive last. Tales of Norlandic revolt; the Rurikids had raised their scarlet banner in protest of the Dragon’s domination. Much like the Emperor had smashed rubber ducklings in his tub, he would bring war upon these rebels. With the news, came the raiders.

 

He and others of the court rallied with the elite Nauzicii; they met the Norlings with lance and sword. The first strife to come to the Empire since the Jackal Crisis and he was at the forefront. For the first time, he felt elevated. His steel blade was an extension of his fleshy arm. His life, a means of termination for those about him. A means of judgement. A means of glory.

 

The knighting of Bl. Baldwin, C. 1567

 

Before the Emperor of Man he knelt. Before the Emperor of Man he swore. Before the Emperor of Man he became Ser. A servant of the Emperor. A servant of the realm. A servant of chivalry. His blade was his life and his life was his country. Yet, his ambition for service did not yet secede. The title of aristocracy held by his line sat aloft, unused. The County of Lewes became his shield, counterpart to his striking sword. Men lined themselves to be of his banner, of the Empire.

 

Leopold of Marna came to him a boy of lesser line. None, besides God, foresaw the prestige which he would achieve. In him, a new service was found. A service that one would liken to a son. A service to teach, to guide, to protect, to arm, to proclaim a warrior of the Empire. But, Leopold would go on to do far more. A squire, an Archchancellor, a King, a friend.

 

The tournament of Laria and the victory of Ser Thomas Bar, C. 1569

 

Grand knight and gamemaster. The pinnacle of achievement in arms. An officiated organizer of a knight's and a famed organizer of tournaments. The lists gave him joy, the lists gave him fame and fortune. The lists brought the knights of the realm together, as did his own ledger. Later on, he was seated in the County of Roard.

 

Just as the waves upon the Empire. The Crown to which he had sworn his life to was eroded like a cliff face upon the seashore. Courlandish exiles, dwarven legions, orcish hordes, Lorrainian dissenters and Savoyard refugees crashed upon the rock of Oren. And the rock of Oren fell. After the eroded rock, fell a piece of stone; after the Empire, fell a loyal knight.

 

 

The late Ser Vitalius de Capua, overlooking the sea from Roard, 15th of Sun’s Smile, 1596

 

 

 

 

[King of Cartography 546]

John Lyons vows to name a mountain after this man!

[yopplwasupxxx 5946]

A man slowly grazes with his thumb the bronze skull which he kept in his pocket, humming the tune of Dogger Bay as he trekked southwards.

 

"The Bastard of Dyffra, dead. I wish we could speak one more time, have one more bout at the tourney- sadly, tis not to be. A farewell to you Vitallius, do keep safe in the Skies or the Void, whichever one you end up in."

[osumanduas 1442]

Spoiler

 

 

An old blonde companion stands overlooking a rigid mountain town in it's frosted desolation. He thought to better times, to the taste of Spiced Wine, music, and dancing, to the thunder of hooves and the cracking of lances. He grieved for his oldest friend and companion.

 

"In better times we might have died, sword in hand, side by side. You leave but I remain, distinct, now inhumane. What hope is there for me now old friend here in the land of the living? Give my regards to death and all his friends, to whatever comes after, know that I'd join you there when I can."

[Shalashask 1112]

Elrach bows his head. The man who had found him on the streets of Johannesburg and given him a better life in the Sappers was gone. Without his invitation he surely would have perished or slipped further into a dark life of crime.

[Daisy 9735]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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