The Tale of a Black Crow

[Tornaedo 1249]

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

“Conflict is my will, strife is my strength, I shall never yield.”

- Konyves Ivanovich within the Yatl Wastes -

 

 

Konyves strode atop a black mare, cladded in bundles of fur, leather and cloth. It was not his typical black plated garb. The fur itches and smells of urine and manure. The sewing on the cloth lining was of poor quality, and the leather seemed to be coming undone with each leap and bound his stead made in the rocky snow terrain. He missed his pinewood forests and lush moors of his homeland, Styria. However, this was no time to be homesick, for his tasks were in the depths of hell, within the wastes.

 

He and his small retinue of men had found a clearing within the thick layers of snow and made camp for the night, the roaring hearth of the campfire was all that kept them from keeling over and succumbing to the wrath of the cold night. Their horses were not faring well either, for they had lost two already out of the ten they had come with. The south was horrifying, and untamed. All matter of beasts waited within the blinding flurry of blizzards and snowstorms. They had been ambushed not but a few kilometers away from the city of Markev. Spectral soldiers bearing the Vaeyl order’s colors had slain three men, before being banished back to their black hold in the south. He had never truly fought these wraiths of the South, and only heard tales about it in court. He recalled the superstition about the beings, and the denial many northern nobles made about their existence. “The Haensei not lie about their babayaga…” Konyves mumbled to himself, as he drank from his flask filled with carrion black. “Nyet they did not, to think they told truth all time.” Syd would state, the lord’s scribe and council member from Styria. “We make move at dawn, your grace.” Syd would grumble, “Best to sleep now, if you can.” Syd would gripe as he’d move towards his bedding around the fire, and slip into its warmth. Konyves would soon follow, slipping into his own bedding, laying on his back. He’d stare into the night sky above. The aurora above them was mesmerizing, and bathed the night sky in its flare og blue and pale green. Truly if the lands around him hadn’t tried to kill him at every turn, this place wouldn’t be so bad. As he gazed at the lights, his vision began to fuzz and he slipped into a deep sleep.

 

…

 

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Konyves would address the emperor of man, Aurelius Horen, “I have come, at your behest.” “ My Lord of Styria, dire news has come from the south. The land is locked in an eternal night, and winter is worsening. Evil is afoot, and we want you, to go south,” the divine Aurelius would state, locking his eyes with Konyves, a sense of stress and worry could be felt over the aging emperor. “Yes, your majesty, what is task you wish of me.” Konyves would press, unsure of why he was to be sent southbound. “It is because we trust your sword arm, we command you and a group of your choosing to scout out the source of this nefarious evil, and attempt to put an end to the darkness plaguing the south.” Aurelius would be quick to respond, a man who was always close to the point, Konyves noted. “Very well, I move at first light tomorrow.”

 

…

 

The cold had battered the small group, as the mounds of snow piled around them as they trudged through the harsh blizzard. Every step was a challenging, as the snow sought to envelop those who trampled on it. They neared the ice wall in the distance, but the land around them was eerily tame. Snow, rocks, and more snow for as far as the eye could see. Save for the menacing walls of ice ahead, but other than that, nothing. Not a spark of life, just death all around them. It was then a call was echoed in the distance, and all the men froze in their place. It chilled their spine and made their skin tremble, as the icy howl of a horn erupted the silence that was about them. Death was coming. Everyone drew their swords and dismounted, huddling into a circle. With their backs to each other, they stared outward into the greyish white mist that had encompassed them. Then a figure akin to a bear burst from the mist, disrupting their defensive position, knocking over everyone that was in the figure’s path. A man’s cry for help was cut off by a meaty crunch of bone and flesh as Konyves recovered from being knocked over by what felt like a horse that had ramed him. He looked toward the direction of where the cry had came from and froze in fear. A massive white beast, similar to a bear had been devouring one of his men, a farm boy from Styria, he grimaced and quickly rose to his feet. Around his men were fighting the specters of the Vaeyl, the sword clashing with the illusions. Konyves rose his black mace and brought it down onto a charging specter and layed into its form with a metallic clang. It fell backwards and collapsed into the snow, before slowly dissipating. He had no time to recover as another specter flung itself at him. Unable to react as fast he felt a blade run into his left shoulder, a pained cry was all he could muster. It was then the cackling specter tore away it’s blade and made ready to strike again, that it too was cut down from behind, collapsing into the snow, and dissipation in a similar fashion.”Your grace, we must move!” Konyves looked up, and recognized Syd, although the man has a cut down the left side of his face, taking an eye. He simply nodded and the two men limped away into the storm. The men around them were being butchered, but gave their lives to protect their margrave.

 

Both men rushed through the snow, in a blind panic. The sounds of clashing behind them had ceased, and the eerie silence had returned. Konyves and Syd both scanned around them before another horn call was made, directly behind the two. “Your grace, you must go. I shall hold them.” Syd said to Konyves. “I cannot do that, what man would I be?!” Konyves angrily shouted at Syd, fury and anger in his eyes. The council member simply smiled, “You have family to return too. Whilst I?” he grunted with a bloody cordial, before spitting a wad of spittle and blood, “I do not, go. Go to your son, to our people.” Syd stated, a stoic and serious tone had come about his tone. Konyves looked at Syd then with a pained sigh he nodded, “Godan protect you and may the Emperor bliss your courage, Syd.” the margrave said to his loyal companion. “May he protect us all,“ Syd stated before a second blast was made, and he pushed the margrave, “GO! NOW!” the man shouted as he turned to the direction of the blast. In an expression of resentment and anger, Konyves turned and began to run into the blinding blizzard.

 

…

 

“Come on you motherless bastards… COME MEET YOUR END!” Syd would taunt into the mist around him. It was then figures began to materialize from the mist, cladded in mystical armor and brandishing blades of woe, “That’s it… come on…” Syd would echoe again, as his eyes widened and was dumbfounded. The numbers of the specters just kept steadily growing, it was like a swarm that had found its prey, a pack of wolves to a wounded sheep. Syd simply began to bark out in laughter and hysteria as he charged forth into the nearest specter. He waylayed his longsword into the specter’s blade before he found an opening in the left side, and cleaved his sword through, causing the specter to collapse into the snow. He then parried a strike that came from his right as another attempted to end his life. He turned and ran his longsword through the specter’s facial visage and ripped it out, watching the being fall backwards into the snow. Then a sharp pain burned in his back as a specter brought a slash down onto his back. With a pained cry of anguish he turned around and quickly went to dismember the torso from the legs of the specter, sending the two parts collapsing into the snow. It was then a spear thrust was sent through Syd’s abdomen. Syd spewed forth onto the snow a torrent of blood and vomit from his mouth as he collapsed onto his back, having the spear rip out of him. He laid there on his back, gazing to the sky above, wheezing and gurgling on his blood. A metal foot was planted on his chest, crushing his ribs below. He gazed into the soulless figure above him, it’s helm was fashioned similar to a skull. Syd simply gave a blood stained smile, and began to chuckle, “Be seeing you..” was all he was able to mutter as a blade was ran through his throat. The death throes of Syd were quick, before his movements were stopped altogether, his life ended.

 

…

 

Konyves trekked into the blinding snow, the fighting behind him again had silenced, and a calm befallen about him. He panted hard, as each breath he blew out emitted a raspy thick frost. He was tired, fatigued, and broken. His men had given their lives to him. His friend had sacrificed himself so that the margrave may return home. He had appeared a strong man, unyielding and fierce, but now he was a shattered husk. The horrors of the south had petrified him, how can GOD allow such beings to exist? He wondered about life and its meaning, for everything around him was filled with images of his life. The refounding of Styria. The dissolution of his rivals in Adria. It all flashed before him, but then it was shattered. A high pitched horn blast echoed around him, breaking his thought. The clarion call had sounded, beckoning him home.

 

 

(Written by Wolfdwg)

[wolfdwg 2677]

A broken sword was all that was left of Syd’s fall, stabbed into a mound of freshly covered snow.

[FlemishSupremacy 6115]

Alfred sheds a tear for his former master, shaking his head. “You’ll be missed, Ser.”

[Axelu 4333]

Alana Rubens allows a solemn exhale to loom out of her lips, sadness palling over her visage. ”Poor Alfred, I can only imagine how he feels.”

[HeroOfDuLoc 1935]

Ser Bogdan waited upon the steps of Vilacz for many days, waiting for his lord to return home. Yet he did not come.

[ibraheemc2000 2965]

Ibraheem Aladeen lowers his head for the fallen

[Noer 577]

It is said by the fireside on cold winter nights that The Mad Duke and Konyves were bound to each other, and that wherever one went in death, the other surely followed. Only God knows where that place may be. 

[Archbishop 1784]

Father Humpfrey weeps.

[Guest]

The Margraeve’s son sat on his lonesome within the remnants of a shattered life in his office. Ilya was accustomed to loss but he did not like having to be the one to write back his mother that his father had perished in an expedition, and even though there was no greater accomplishment than dying for the Emperor he was bitter and angry.

 

With a dismissive nature to him he headed home and left the fruitful labor of his work behind for the evening With a bottle of hard Carrion Black by his bedside, the beleaguered first son lowered his head against the pillow now as he took mournful gulps of the liquor that tasted like fire and ash in his mouth.

 

The son missed the father and waited for him to come home eagerly, even though he knew deep in his soul that his father was likely dead, their tie sundered by that veil that parts the Earth from the Seven Skies.

[osumanduas 1442]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it. 

[osumanduas 1442]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.