A New Age

[blago 1602]

The day was full of life, the fields of what will soon be a reformed Lorraine bustled between the Daelanders, Lotharangians, and Illatians. A celebration to an old title being resurrected caused the bunch to parade in joyment as Hughes d’Amaury forces the masons to work, constructing the castle that will be known as Summerhall. As Alistair and his blood sat outside the falling walls of Belcrest, in Daelish celebration they’d be throwing logs about, testing their strength all to impress the old dog of Callan’s seed. Alistair was in joy to see his own about again, the legacy his Father left him to raise, and in this moment he was taken by a happiness he hadn’t felt since the days of Axios when his people prospered most.

 

Moving forth to his sons and smiling wildly as everyone swigged away at mead, he’d begin taking part in the barbaric games - Stepping front and side while wrestling about, large masses of material being thrown over the fields to flex his might, he expressed a youthful strength that hadn’t faded since his early days in Ponce, a time mostly spent with the Father who showed him undying love. The conservative traditionalist in him was beaming as though withering from the cloaking shadow of feudalism, the Daeland culture was thriving in its pocket of Gromach and Guthrie blood that remained to the band of fighters under their d’Amaury relatives. Competition filling the day as the tribal folk continued to celebrate, it’d be by each passing minute that Alistair’s age caught up to him, figure running worn and weary each moment of proving himself.

 

With the day passing to dark, Alistair laid in the field melting in pain as his body endured levels of pain it’d been in vacation from for so long. His family circled around him in concern, comforting the paragon to their culture, it’d be some of his last moments that’d shed faint bliss - Tired Gromach green gaze resting on what he knew as home. In brittle words he’d rant away to his cousin Owen, closest to his age;
 

“Oie’m at me’h end, like an’eh old dog it be’h time f’me to go with Callan. Jus’like the old clan life, ‘et b’time to go. Me’h grandson will take th’ leadership t’the family name. Let ‘im carry the

name to a feudal purpose, t’bring our people out of th’struggle o’eh evolving world.”
 

Wheezing his words in that moment of his body going faint, skin pale like the Lake of Babies, it was clear what he wanted. It was time to grow as a people, to adapt. Owen as his old companion took it in his own right to deliver the mercy deserving for Alistair while nodding to his message, a battle companion of decades finally at his end, and not even in battle. Drawing an ornate dagger of Daelish creation, he ran the edge of the blade to his throat before thrusting forward, the cruel gurgle of his friend being the last noise he’d ever make in life. The gathering of Daeland clansmen running quiet as frowns marked their grim appearances, it was evident not many had any idea on how to really react by the sudden, yet slow passing while Alistair layed there in the fields of grass bleeding out in struggled silence.
 

 

The Duke of Rosgar, Great Father to the Daelands, and Chief of the Gromach Clan for so many years - A life grand, gone in just a simple cause of age and illness.

[Cleggmire_ 130]

         Reynald de Chatillon clasps on the parchment before him, printing out a sentence in cursive as he cast a solemn glower onward. "A Great  man."

[Axelu 4333]

Aileen Gromach, upon watching her adored grandfather leave her family and become an ancestor, could only do the one thing Alistair advised her not to do; The adolescent sobbed- Alistair the father that King Malcolm II never was to her. There, the Gromach stayed for hours, mourning the departure of such an honorable man. "I love ye, grandfather," She choked out amidst her wailing- and so, she remained until she wept herself to sleep. 

[Wurfv 101]

Owen Gromach would speak a few final words to his battle partner of so many years, "Enjoy aw th' lasses in th' afterlife brotha." A faint smile would cover his face as he looked down upon his cousin, remembering all the good times they spent over the years.

[FlemishSupremacy 6115]

Uthred shook his head, before a smile appears upon his face. "Ye'll go tae ah better place, Uncle, ah wish ye well!"