Jump to content
Torky

-= The Crow Flies =-

Recommended Posts

aanKYVV.jpg?1

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

What had been a beautiful day now began to fade, and as the various citizens of Reza began to withdraw from their banalities a lone man entered the city. He was aged, though his hair had not yet gone white. Fineries adorned his clothing, clothing that carried an extortionate air to them- befitting for a man as rich as he. Though as he entered Reza he came not as the auxiliary or entrepreneur that he had so many years ago, he came as an old veteran seeking a few final words with his queen. As the streets emptied to fill the houses of families preparing for supper, one woman and a young child remained seated at a table outside of the tavern. With his stalwart blade as a cane, the old veteran made his way up the short flight of steps to meet Elizaveta: his Queen.

 

The beaming monarch had been exchanging muffle words with her young child, her tone carried exhaustion beneath the tenderness. The queen truly adored her children, all whom were present with the aging lady would note that, the way she acted as if she was never too old to play rough with her son; then quickly flitter back to braiding her three daughter’s hair. Mariya had been sat beside her mother, the young girl spending the evening doodling circles and other variants of shapes upon the parchment. Without a worry in the world…

 

It warmed the mother’s heart to see her children thrive and blossom, healthy. Something she had never completely been; not truly. Marius held the head-strong attitude of his father, Nataya and Anastasya the gentleness and patience that poured from the mother, Mariya whilst held creativity, any chance to draw or sing. Oh how her songs brought Elizaveta joy.

 

“Is this chair taken?” An voice, almost lost to time, sounded. Andrei’s grey eyes flickered softly to the child and queen presented at the bench. His stature, whilst donned in extravagant finary, had visibly aged through the harsh years that had burdened him.  

 

Elizaveta quickly rose, the voice of Andrei all too familiar to her, especially during her years of childhood “Andrei? Goodness I thought time had truly swept you away.” A clear laugh sounded “Of course not, do join us. It would be lovely to catch up!”

 

The aging man and woman exchanged pleasantries and passing words like this for some time. Reminiscing of family, youth and the Kingdom alike. Two faces that had known one another for years, reunited, was something Elizaveta was quite content with.

 

For she had feared that the transition to the new lands, had gobbled up the majority of what she was familiar with and in its wake left a hazy uncertain newness. Change; that she did not enjoy.

 

Finally the darkness of the setting sun began to shrink beneath the high peaks of the Haensetic hillsides, dusting Reza in a pallets of low auburns and ambers -- darkness approached; yet it did not hinder the convening duo one bit. With a mere mention of Elizaveta’s beloved library, both had already spang upward.

 

A youthful vigor filled Andrei’s spirits as mention of the library surfaced. Memories of the many nights he had spent studying from the medical volumes flooded his mind. He had been able to help save, cure, and fix dozens of patients due to what he had learned. Even on days where the stakes were not so high, there was always a book or two that would catch his eye and later win his heart. He may not have thought much of Elizaveta when she was a child, but her love for learning had always struck a more tender cord with him. As the pair walked, the queen assisting the old veteran as if he were her father, the buildings of the new Haense once again sparked a few more memories. This was a new place, but in it was the life and spirit that had captured his passion so many years ago.

 

“Well.. here we are.” The Queen announced “The Theodisian Library.” She introduced Andrei to the new establishment almost as if was a living, breathing, person. Tufts of bricked stone, it’s flesh -- polished panes, eyes.

 

The library was a relic from Markev, the same worn tomes that stacked it’s shelves, now were here. Neatly categorized, alphabetical and orderly. Basking in the true glory of the building, gave the queen a settled and comforted sensation. The Library stoney, solid proof of her years of back-breaking labour, forming the library at a mere twelve years old.

 

Andrei was silent for a moment, a long (too long) painful moment. Deceit is what he had to provide in this moment, and the mere thought made him feel nauseous “Your great achievements never ceased to amaze me, your majesty. The Library is wonderful.” More lies that hardened his conscience.

 

At the back of Andrei’s mind came the nagging, debilitating knowledge of the purpose of his visit. He was once a man who desired the truth, but now he feared its predatorial lurking. Attempting to break his gaze from Elizaveta, the old veteran tried to crane his head away, but whether by his weak will or something greater, he could not look back. The young girl, challenging the world even as it had struck her a nigh-fatal blow, sat there, and for a moment the old veteran, a man who had seen and done the worst with a simple gritt of the teeth and a curt nod of the head, stood petrified with agony.

 

Allow me more time, please. A minute, an hour, a week, a year, whatever I can. She deserves least of all to die by my hand, the hand of a traitor, the hand of a killer, the hand of a man who let all those he loved die before himself. Can she not die surrounded by those she loves, warm in her own bed and content with what she has done before she slips into a final, peaceful rest? Andrei begged of himself, his hands shaking with dread.

 

No. It was her who brought about the deaths of many you treasured. Did you not swear that you would extract vengeance and justice for those who had died in vain? You’ve never been one to hesitate in doing what needs to be done. Her family kicked you down, and here is your only chance to return the favor. A voice bit back, slowing his rapidly-beating heart and stilling his hands.

 

In an instant, displaying the quickness and agility that he had so many years ago, the old veteran shot downwards and to his left, slamming his shoulder into Elizaveta and sending he sprawling out to the right. With a harsh thud, and the crack of both wood and bone, the queen flew into a table beside her. The royal crown she wore fell to the ground, and the queen gave a soft cry as she struggled to rise. Mechanical memory overtook any cognitive ones, and in a swift glide Andrei brought his paramerion up to Elizaveta’s throat.

 

“I’m sorry it had to be you,” whispered the old veteran, his digits clenching around the pommel of his blade in a vain attempt to steady it. He did not dare to raise his head and look into her eyes, for he knew that it would bring about only defeat, physically or otherwise.

 

“Why couldn’t you have stayed the young girl in the wheelchair? You had to have known that the path of a Queen would be far more tragic.” He gritted his teeth, inching his sword forward until the light resistance of her neck stopped him. The bravery she showed, both in becoming queen and dying as one caught something in him. Was it admiration? Another pang of despair? Or was it simply his nerves?

 

Elizaveta could feel the broken bones kissing against the confining layers of skin, her body was unlike any others. It was far frailer, and oh did she feel it. Each nerve screamed and snarled, the same sound muffled through her hoarse throat. Watery blue eyes hesitantly shifted to where the point of the blade rested, she was exhausted… so tired. Her limbs ached, barely providing enough force to simply sit herself upright.

 

She could fight, albeit pathetically. She could scream, but who would hear? Would they be in time? Too many questions, for such little time. Yet she knew, no matter what she may have attempted. GOD had already decided.

 

“D-Do..” Even words stung to speak, but she persisted “Do.. what you must, but I beg of you. Leave my children and husband out of this. Whatever qualm you hold… ends with my blood.” Her breaths scratched at the back of her throat, almost as if she was breathing fire -- even in her last moments, the queen remained soft, tender and… afraid.

 

“Elizaveta, when you’re in the Seven Skies,” the old veteran began, his tears and lack of breath choking his words. “Tell Therese, tell Edlynn, tell Septimus, tell Gwyn, tell Cedlas…” he then stopped, mustering the courage he had only drawn a few times before, and rose his visage to meet her.

 

I stand here as her killer, yet ask she do a favor for me?

 

“No, don’t plague their minds with memories of who I am, or rather who I was. Live in peace up there as you could not down here, for the Seven Skies is a place for you, and this damned hell is a place for me.” The guilt that stabbed him as he forced every word to exit his wicked conscious was soon numbed, and the faintest euphoria of relief washed over him. With a flick of his wrist Andrei angled his sword downwards, thrusting the blade as he had so many times before.

 

Andrei looked away whilst the tip of the blade disappeared beneath the tissue and tendons of her chest, until it went completely through her. Elizaveta swore she would not offer him the satisfaction of her screams, but such was a promise she could not keep. Her broken and pained shrills rang about Reza chillingly. This was the moment the blade was torn from her and Andrei slipped into the night… leaving the helpless Queen to bleed out. It was not his intention to leave her in such a state, though… footsteps heavily approached. The sound of hounds barking with vigor.

 

Elizaveta felt each fragment of her consciousness slipping away, she yearned to fight it, to see her beloved husband and children again.

 

GOD, please… do not take me away, not yet. I need more time. I have done everything I could for the little ones, goodness Marius has beautiful children… I never met. My twins! How will they react… will little Mariya remember me?

 

All… I ever wanted… was to be remembered…

 

“Your majesty!” An all too familiar voice boomed, it was rioted with panic and dread. The frantic movements of the Lord Henrik Kovachev burst into the Library, beside him Thorvn the Houndmaster.

 

The two newcomers shared a look of pale-faced horror, whilst the weakening Queen lay in a mess of her own ichor.

 

“Ring the bell, ring the god damn bell!” The Kovachev snarled at the stunned Thorvn, who shortly furled his fingers beneath the laboured hound’s collar and sprang off. Perhaps a little relieved he was not confronted with the scene any longer.

 

Henrik threw himself at Elizaveta, lifting the broken, bloody body of the lame queen, his hand slipped within the stained one of hers.

 

“Shhh..my queen all will be fine.” It was a bottomless promise, but he knew naught what else to say.

 

Elizaveta murmured incoherent words, sounds and hitches, the only thing that made sense was a delirious “Henrik…” In a very much laboured tone, she fought -- or tried to. She had so much left to say…

 

But the air from the queen’s lung’s shortly left, it seemed as if the woman was falling into a deep and tranquil slumber. The once evident signs of worry and exhausted vanished whilst her body slackened, never before had the Queen seemed so… at ease.

 

And this, is where the queen’s long, privileged life had been ended. The little crow, leaving the nest and soaring to the seven skies.

 

Queen Elizaveta Rosette Barbanov, The Mother, The Educator and The Cherished – would now watch her beautiful friends and family grow, from the heavens above.

 

Spoiler

This is the end of the road for my beloved character, I have had Eliza since June and every moment has been blessed to play her. Thank you to all who made my time playing Eliza amusing, emotional, heart warming and delightful!

 

A massive thank you to Nectorist for helping me write this!

 

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

An old uncle’s hands shake for a brief moment as he lifts some of his whiskey to his lips. 

 

“...I never even got to finish her alchemy lessons.” he quietly whispers to himself, and the grip only tightens further.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The old uncle shed tears he often did not as he learned of what happened. “All the little ones are leaving before I am. . .” his voice was hoarse.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Upon reading the doubtlessly myriad letters and notices that reported Elizaveta’s death, Swithun grows only further dismayed; another famed figure of his time had been erased from the world. He does indeed mourn for his former apprentice—although in private—despite the two’s quarrels in their later years.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Thorvn sat within the tavern corner in  attempt to heel the previous ongoing trauma, although seeing much death in his time, the expiration of noble blood was. . unfamiliar.

 

For once, he’d been at loss for words. 

 

He’d pull the whining hound over his lap, rugged hands Idly brushing over the domesticated pup’s medium haired mane as it trying to console it. 

 

Another light has been extinguished. . .

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Liliana looks down from the seven skies, flickers of horror filling her mind as she looked at the familiar two. The man who stood beside her and her husband, a man she regarded as a friend, and the raven-haired girl who she came upon in the library, spouting facts and language far beyond her years. She welcomes Elizaveta into the seven skies with open arms.

 

Amalie Ruthern hears wind of the Queen’s tragic death, the sickly woman taking a moment to mutter a silent prayer for her sister-in-law. 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Anastasya would lock herself within her chambers, numb and emotionless. She knew who she blamed for her mother’s death as she sat bitterly in her black mourning attire, pale hands gripping her mattress. The eldest Barbanov princess would continue to brood, candles visible in her window as they burned well into the black of night.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Septimus Aldin, knowing not who the assailant may be, folded his hands atop one another and leaned further into his seat. Mulling over the situation in his head, he began to silently wonder if it was well-timed political assassination, someone taking care of their personal business, or something completely different.

 

Alas, he’d likely never know. He shifted forward, rising to don a weathered cloak before he wandered down the rugged cobble road towards Haense.
(Also, refer to my signature.)

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The night air of Reza had a bitter edge to its wind that night, breezes causing the silent city to be filled with the eerie cries of unseen entities. Most others around were either under thick covers within their bedding or in front of a warm flickering fire, the Lord of Ruthern was not doing either. Demetrius var Ruthern was instead sat on a discarded crate situated within one of Reza’s alleyways, pale-blue gaze staring towards one brick wall with the other flanking his immediate back. The only movement coming from the alleyway was the fluttering of the man’s cape due to the breeze, and the man’s constant rhythmic clenching of blooded fists.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Nataya sat on the bench in the garden with her head held in the palms of her hands. Weeping over the loss of her dear mother she would mutter repeatedly to herself, “If only I had more time.. I should’ve spent more time..“ Tears flooded down the girl’s face as she slid off the bench, collapsing onto her knees. “Please forgive me, Mother..“

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Halle sat at her table shifting through letters with her little boy helping her. She’d take hold of the parchment and begin to read of news that a great friend had been ripped from her life. Her lips part and tears fill against her orbs. She’d make her way to Heanse with her baby boy in her arms. 

“I’m coming brother” The small woman made off in haste to comfort the king. 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Theodosius would make note of the death of another old friend of his. One more to add to the list he has outlived. 

"Looks like another for me to kill."

And he walked into the basement.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Sergei sat on the wall overlooking the landscape of Reza, the one where the killer's traces ended. His pipe in his mouth as he blamed himself that a queen was murdered on his watch

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.



×