The Monarch Wears The Crown No Longer

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

Princess Anastaya Ingrid Barbanov, eldest daughter of the late King Robert and Queen Elizaveta, had always been strong and fierce in the face of tragedy. She was most like her father of any of her siblings, quick of wit with an easy smile and light-hearted air that she carried with her wherever she went. However, the final reading of her father’s will broke that surface, the young princess sobbing as she clutched the parchment to her chest.

 

Her best friend and greatest supporter was gone. What was she going to do without him now?

[TarreBear 637]

Tears flowed down the cheeks of Princess Nataya as she read over her father's final will. Grasping onto her letter she looked over in nostalgia of past memories of the card games in the tavern, how she constantly asked for him to take her to a place where it was warmer and her illness would plague her so. “We’ve finally come to this land and I am feeling better. This was suppose to be the place where we could finally adventure together,” she said softly through a cracked voice. The young woman sat at the end of her bed as her tears continued to fall, wishing she could see her father one last time. “You will always be in my heart, Papa.”

[Guest]

Queen Evelyn Devereux tears roll down her cheeks as she looks over the seas towards Reza, remembering her old friends. Eliza and Robert. Her gaze shifting to the sky, shed utter 'may you both rest in the seventh skies together with God. I miss you both' Her thoughts turn to atlas, the many fond memories of the couple. To Roberts coronation , her first outing outside of the safety of her home. The joy and smiles when he and Eliza had their child. More tears falling down the ageing queen's cheeks as she continues to remember, moving into Will and her sleeping room. 

 

[Ankalagon_ 258]

Jarrack puts the letter down on the mantle, looking out the nearby window solemnly. Sunlight streamed through glass and into the living room that looked out upon the streets of Curon, washing over Jarrack’s face. “The father was a great man. His son, might grow to be a greater one. The King is dead, long live the King.”

[Axelu 4333]

Aleksandra Sophia offers a smile, faultless as tears collect at her corneas –  only streaming down the contour of her face then. “Always a wise man, eh? I miss you, papej… “ Upon rising, she’d hesitate, sparing a singular glance over her shoulder. ”Love you.”

[Legoboy7984 3155]

Sir Henrik Otto Ludovar sat within the Ludovar manor with his wife, Kattarina Ludovar, to his side as he received the will of the late Koeng Robert before the bells within the city of Reza began to ring notifying the people of the Koeng’s death. He would simply lower his head as a single tear dropped from Henrik’s cheek before he’d hug his wife.

 

“Koeng Robert was like a brother to me.. he will always be remembered as the longest reigning Koeng of Haense along with his great deeds he has done for our people. Farewell now, coz, rest well.”

[Hook 79]

A red-robed figure trundled unto the city gate of Reza, sharp of speed and red of face, with a crooked wizard’s hat that flopped in time on the bounce of his purposeful sprint. Under his left arm, he carried something garish and yellow, whilst in his right arm the tall staff that normally supported his pace was currently being held outward like a lance, as this figure had recently listened to a scholar’s lecture on ‘air-oh! dynamics’, and confidently reckoned that this new way of staff-holding would increase his speed tenfold.

 

As Ripplewick neared the gate guards, he halted.

 

“Full name, and reason for visi-“ the armour-clad footman would begin, before the red wizard would interrupt, with more bravery and rudeness than he would have dared on a normal occasion.

 

“Is!...” is all he’d initially blurt out, before wheezing and coughing.“Is it true, then, the news of the King?”

 

The first guard, though initially offering only a frustrated grunt at the interruption, would soon resume his stoic demeanour. “True as steel. King Robert passed some days ago. Reza mourns his loss.”

 

Though Ripplewick didn’t truly know the King of Haense, it was in this moment that he remembered an occasion wherein King Robert and one of his Knights visited the home of himself and his elderly housemate, Tidwald. The pair of them, peeping out of a fault in the wall of their home, terrified that a King was about to be here at their hovel, zipped around the house as Robert wandered up the path, desperately throwing the scattered belongings and items into cupboards and under stairs, and generally out of the direct sight of a visitor. But when he did arrive, Robert showed nothing but gratitude for the hospitality as the two peasants made tea and presented cake for their royal guests. Of all of the Monarchs he had both met and had not met, Ripplewick felt King Robert might be the most fair and kind.

 

But now, Tidwald had passed, the King had passed, and the Knight, being a Knight, could well have also passed in some sort of brave and heroic act for the Kingdom and its people, as Knights tend to do brave and heroic things like that. 

 

“Ahem!”, the second gate guard began. “You must tell us your name and reason for entering, or we cannot allow you passage into Reza.”

 

Ripplewick picked at his progressively greying beard for but a few seconds before turning on his heel and beginning away from the City, unsure of what might be left here for him. “Thank you both for your time, but it’s private, wizard business, see,” he shot. “I’ll just be on my way.”

 

As the red robed man scarpered off, he dropped the pair of buttery yellow boots he had been carrying with him. This was particularly embarrassing as he thought he had perhaps seemed mysterious and enigmatic by refusing his identity, but dropping a pair of grave-robbed yellow wellies immediately after his exit, still in view of the guards, had ruined his own illusion of himself and reminded him that he is mostly nought but a clumsy fool. Scooping them up, full of humiliated volition, Ripplewick began Southward.