The Darkness that Comes Before

[floop 147]

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

---

“And so Harren, Joren, and Godwin,

the sons of the Chosen Himself, stood

and watched the collapse of their

home, by the hands of the once uncle of their

kind.

 

Harren cursed the Skies and above, the one of

indulgence. Joren bellowed in rage, the

one of wroth. And Godwin drank

himself blind, the one of

acedia.

 

Soon the Aengul came down, the one which

guided Horen years before. He sayeth one phrase, before

sending the children to each corner of the

world;

 

‘So is the Darkness That Comes Before.’”

 

-The Book of Saints, Unknown

 

 

---

 

- Regent Karl Sigmar Barbanov, City of Karlsburg, 1594

 

Karl’s attention snapped towards the rotund Medicus as he forced himself through the doorway of the manor, huffing as he stepped forward to inform the Prince the ultimate fate of his third child. The sweaty doctor would wipe his brow, wincing as he spoke “It’s a boy m’lord, healthy as an ox... your wife though…” he takes a deep breath, patting once more at his patchy face before continuing.
“I’m afraid your wife did not make it sir” he finally spits out, shutting his eyes tightly, before peeking one open to see his master’s reaction.

 

The man simply shakes his head, letting out a tired sigh, contemplating all of the death he had seen as of late. It seemed only a natural conclusion that his wife be another casualty of fate.

“He will be Heinrik then” the weary regent nods, turning his solemn gaze out the window to the bustling street. “As my brother might have been.”

 

 

---

 

- Heinrik, Count of Bihar, City of Mardon, 1610

 

- Stephen Karl, Prince of the Raev, City of Mardon 1610

 

Heinrik would flash a smile at his younger cousin Stephen, who had planted himself firmly across the oaken table of the tavern. The teenager would slide a bottle of ale to his cousin, motioning his head towards a Miller’s daughter relaxing with a gaggle of her friends near the entrance “What do you think Coz, she’s been given me the eyes all night, looks a good bit northern too aye?”

The pudgy, younger boy smiling, taking a drink from the ale his cousin has passed him, stifling a laugh as he looks the lowborn girl over “Aye, she’s certainly your type of lass Coz” he’d lean forward, punching Heinrik on the shoulder “Should I expect ta’ see her warming your bed tonight  then Heinrik, or are you a *****?”  

 

Heinrik would furrow his brow as he finishes the rest of his drink, before jovially shaking a fist at his cousin “Oy’ don’t you call me a fookin’ ***** Stephen Karl. Don’t think just because you’ll be king I’m not afraid of kicking your arse across this tavern!”

 

Both of the boys share a rowdy laugh, before turning their attention once more to the Mardonese miller’s daughter.

 

---

 

-  Heinrik, Count of Bihar, Second Battle of the Rothswood, 1612

 

Heinrik took a deep breath as the men gathered on the field, pulling his helmet low and readying himself for battle. He looked around at the men around him, Rutherns, Kovachevs, Vanirs, Barbanovs, all men standing proud, ready to reclaim their homeland. They were outmanned, outgeared, and underprepared yet here they were.

 

The steady blaring of drums became louder and louder as the Norlander mass charged into the fray, the two armies clashing in the field. Heinrik stands at the front of the Haeseni line, locking eyes with a young boy flying the Staunton colors.

 

The armored Barbanov charges towards the enemy bannerman, quickly driving his spear into the boy’s neck. The Courlander falls, a sucking, bubbling neck wound bringing forth an agonizing demise. As the hot blood splatters onto Heinrik’s face through his helm, the unfamiliar stench of death fills the air, the scent of battle eventually becoming so overwhelming on the uncustomed boy that he was forced to his knees, quickly emptying the contents of his stomach onto the corpse of the poor Courlander, and the battlefield proper.

 

As Heinrik regains his composure, the enemy cavalry begins it’s charge once more pushing across the field towards the Haeseni line. before he can get to his feet Heinrik, still heaving, is trampled by the thundering hooves of the warhorses, leaving sickly blue bruises upon his body and forcing him into a puddle of his own sick.

 

As Heinrik lay there, covered in dirt, blood, he knew he’d reached a fork in the road of life, he could continue to lay there and wait out the battle, or join those still fighting to return the North to it’s rightful owners. It only took a few seconds before the young crow knew what he must do, fighting through the pain, and forcing himself to his feet in order to rejoin the men, and win the day for the people of Haense.   

 

---

- Stephen I, King of Hanseti-Ruska, Camp Barbanov 1616

 

-  Heinrik, Count of Bihar, Camp Barbanov, 1616

 

“Coz” Heinrik would fold his hands behind his back as he  stepped forward, fixing himself firmly near the regally dressed Stephen as they watch the men begin setting a frame for a new house.

 

“We grow rapidly, we are currently by far the most populated human settlement, despite the severe lack of housing.  Many flock from all around, willing to sleep in tents if only to feel the proud northern soil beneath their feet.”  he takes a deep breath as he steps forward to begin hauling lumber, his cousin seems to sigh at Heinrik before stepping forward to do the same.

 

“Aye cousin,” Stephen nods, helping Heinrik to pass some of the freshly chopped lumber to the laborers. “If we continue this growth, we will once more build a true home for the highlanders.” The young king wipes some sweat from his brow before continuing. “Stretching from the mighty Greyspine mountains, in all their grandeur, to the vast expanse of the Northmarch standing proud before GOD, and atop it all You, and I, Heinrik.”

 

Heinrik nods to his cousin, brushing sawdust off of his ashen cloak.“A King, and his Palatine, a man, and his brother, if not by birth then by bond.” He nods once more, almost as if dipping his head to his cousin, and longtime friend, no doubt a sign of respect. “As it should be, as GOD’s grace demands.”

 

Stephen would crack his neck, overlooking the mass of houses and buildings that was once nothing but a small collection of black, and yellow tents. “Aye, and it all begins here Cousin. From henceforth this shall no longer be the quaint Camp Barbanov, this shall be the mighty city of Alban, Jewel of the North.”

 

 

---

 

-  Heinrik, Count of Bihar, Alban , 1619

 

-  Camille Renée of Raetia, Alban, 1619

 

Heinrik would hold his wife tightly, kissing her forehead as he hears one of the soldiers call his name, seemingly needing him for something. “Ah, my love, I’m afraid we must part once more, it seems duty calls once again.” He gives a tired sigh, the wooden pew gives off a loud creak as he gets to his feet, turning to face the door.

 

As Heinrik turns he would feel a tug on his shoulder, he spins in place coming face to face with his wife’s soft grey eyes, her mouth forming a small listless frown as she looks him over. “My dear, I wish I could give you peace of mind.”

 

The Lord Chancellor’s heart would seem to break as he realizes what he’s said to his poor wife, reaching out to gently set a hand beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Oh Camille,” he’d open his mouth, as if ready to speak, but nothing comes out for a moment. The tired man takes a deep breath, continuing on after collecting his thoughts. “My love, I have seen the gilded halls of the fair folk, I’ve felt the warm kiss of the Harian sun on my skin, and met many rare and exotic women, yet never in all of my years on GOD’s earth have I found any that can compare to you.” He leans forward as if to kiss her once more, but the cries of his name grow louder and more numerous, and so without another word he turned, departing through the heavy church doors. As the austere man walked away, Camille would look down at the floor once more, softly whispering “Thank you.”

 

 

---

 

-  Heinrik, Count of Bihar, Alban , 1624

 

-  Natalia Julia of Alban, Alban, 1624

 

Heinrik groaned in pain as he stumbled into the grandhall of the Barbanovic Palace, limping his way towards the throne, using his gore covered shield as a makeshift crutch before collapsing on the floor before one of the great mess tables, making it just short of the dais. With a great heave, Heinrik would force himself up, leaning back on the table and clutching his injured side as warm blood darkens his soft brown uniform.  

 

The wounded man grimaces as he spots his teenage daughter, skipping happily before spotting her father and running towards him, concern dripping from her voice as she yells, “Sir! Why didn’t you go to a medic?!”

 

The Palatine would shake his head, pulling his daughter close with a blood soaked gauntlet and embracing her against his wet side, saying nothing, simply holding the young girl close.

 

Natalia would begin to panic, attempting to force the much larger man to his feet, stammering “We… we’ll get you a medic!”

 

Heinrik shakes his head softly, splitting his parched lips and finally breaking his silence. “Enough, GOD is calling me Natalia, Stephen is calling to me.” His eyes would begin to mist as he looks the blood covered girl over, repeating as if for the hall to hear: “My daughter, my only daughter...”  The man would cough, doubling forward in pain before centering himself once more, and reaching for the scabbard on his belt. A chain bearing a lorraine cross, previously tightly wound, unfurls itself as Heinrik would unclip his personal blade from his belt, sheath and all.

 

“Nononono,” Natalia utters, starting to shake before her father, looking upon his twisted form wide eyed. “You’ll be okay, y-you’ll be okay!”

 

“Worry not,” the proud father smiles, feebly holding the sword towards her, “This is for your brother Natalia, a relic of our line.” He’d begin coughing once more, blood staining his once white teeth a dull red. “Ensure he passes it to his children, and so forth. It must never be lost my daughter.”

 

The blade slips from the girl’s distraught fingers, clattering to the floor before her, one of the large rubies in the Gold Crow pommel’s eyes cracking as it hits the floor. “Stop it!! Stop it Papa, please!! I can help you!” she pleaded with the man, paying no heed to the weapon at her feet.

 

Heinrik would begin to cry softly, the tears cutting through the muck and grime on his face as he leaned forward to whisper something to his daughter, holding her close.  

 

As he pulls away the sobbing girl stares at him, dismayed. “What’s the point of carrying on if you aren’t here!”  she begins to sob harder, resting her head upon her father’s chest.

 

“The point, Natalia?” the man would belabordly raise a hand, running his fingers through the girl’s raven hair. “You are the point my dear, my bluet; your brother, all the other Northmen, this mad experiment in human perseverance we call Haense, and all those living within it’s borders. That is what we fight for!”

 

Natalia’s grip around her father tightens, but her arms weaken, as she takes sharp, staggered breaths, the panic beating in her chest. “But you’re the one I’ve always fought for!”

 

Heinrik would laugh weakly, squeezing his daughter as she tightens her grip. “No little one, you fight for yourself. You are a Barbanov my daughter, my only daughter, when Haense is strong, you are strong.”

 

“I can’t be without you! You mean everything to me!” her shaky voice trails off, her tears falling softly upon her father’s bloodied tabard.

 

“Yes you can,” Heinrik utters clutching the weeping girl’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze before finally succumbing to his wounds. His grip goes weak, his face turning soft, as his eyelids flicker before shutting a final time. Guardsmen would begin to gather around the two, the girl screaming desperately for her father who now lays upon the floor. The men hoist him up, and a Lorraine cross, the very cross his daughter had gifted him falls at her feet, the metal clanking as it hits the sword she’d previously dropped.

 

 

---

 

As Heinrik closed his eyes darkness that comes before enveloped his vision, a whole, and total darkness.

[Arsenal 28]

*Lorent would welcome him with open arms as Heinrik Otto reaches the seven skies 

[Piov 2643]

Everard IV mourns upon hearing the death of Heinrik Otto, "Eternal rest grant unto Heinrik Otto's soul O GOD; by the merits of his faith may he be made worthy to the ascension into the Skies in Thy divine Salvation." - he mutters to himself, switching to a conversational tone, "God be with you old friend. Your legacy lives on in the people whom you greatly touched in your worldly pilgrimage. You rejoice now with your kin and with the communion of Saints where you right belong. Salve."

[devvy 1348]

Camille Stafyr #1 thought back to when she attended his abrupt forest wedding, wiping a single tear from her eye as she straightened back up. "He will be remembered by us all." she then sat before the wooden desk, writing a letter off to her sister-in-law, the other Camille, to send her condolences.

 

(( the Natalia and Heinrik part made me tear up, ngl.

[ibraheemc2000 2965]

The two Janissarys Khalid Ibn Mahmoud Would Hum the Janissarys funeral march and salute him as they raising the Harian flag half way down for him "He donated to our army in the times of need against the undead armys, he helped us in defense of raids, he help us catch bandits and criminals, he help our harian citizens, he took care of his aunt who lived here, he was our friend, and a Harian by heart, May ALLAH Grant him peace, May ALLAH grant him the highest of ranking and let him drink upon drinks and may his face shine nur upon nur, MAY ALLAH THE MOST FORGIVING, THE MOST COMPASSIONATE, Grant this man seven skys! AMEN YA RABI AMEN YA RABI ALLAH WE BESEECH YOU TO GRANT THIS MAN SEVEN SKYS!" tears would fall from their cheeks for the great man and friend Heinrik Otto

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Saeed ibn Malek Would weep for Heinrik, he was a good friend to saeed and saeed could not help but cry for the brave and kind hearted man. He would make a dua for his friend, he could do nothing else but give his condolences to his family

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Abbas cheeks were soaked his heart aked for the man we was hired for, deep down he was a good friend and felt as if Heinrik Otto was his brother, he would stay in his home for 6 days for the respect for him

[Andustar 4143]

Viktor Kovachev would remark a prayer for his late friend "May GOD grant you safe passage to the Seven, Heinrik."

[Birdnerdy 1539]

Karl Sigmar offered none of the typical tearfelt welcomes or warm words of congratulations when his youngest came to rest beside him in the Skies. Nay, all that Heinrik was afforded was a solemn look of understanding, for Karl had once shared the burden that Heinrik bore. To stand behind a great man is often a thankless task, but they had each done their duty, and done it well. Perhaps they might find some much needed rest in eternity. 

[Gridlock 1033]

Ben Othaman would still be roaming the lands around the last battlefield searching for his liege lord slowly losing hope.

[devvy 1348]

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

 

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