roleplay A Last Goodbye

[SaltAlt 606]

 

 

--posting on behalf of someone who has an agreement with Fireheart that they are allowed to do this.--

 

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rOiW_xY-kc

Everybody Hurts, Sometimes

 

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The flames of Dunharrow flickered gently in the crisp evening air. Two men sat on the cobbles of the Dunharrow Monastery. Both tall with shoulders more befitting scholars than warriors. Yet both clad in arms and armour, bearing many scars from the countless battles they had fought. Despite their relative youth. The silence between the two was broken “Aeyn” muttered the younger of the two, “I feel that my path has strayed. I cannot make amends but where we are is certainly no home for us” he’d say “Could the Caunter curse be true, could we be followed by death?” he’d utter turning and gazing deep into the flames of the Temple’s hearth. Titling his head bacak the masked priest chuckled shaking his head “The burdens of leadership my child. Every decision you make is wrong, some are just the least wrong”. He’d say sombrely his eyes turned downward as his fingers would nimbly play over the filigreed surface of his staff. “Ours in an ancient house, spanning the centuries it has not been others that were our folly. But ourselves. Over and over again we’ve slaughtered and betrayed our own blood. Mayhaps our blood is a cursed blood” he’d sigh silence once more embracing the monastic alcove.

 

Emerging from the shadows stepped a tall man, clad in the furs and mail of a Nordish warrior he let fly a bolt aimed for the young Caunter. The bolt thudded into the calf of the young warrior, embedding itself deeply in his flesh as he’d cry out in pain,. Surging to his feet the armoured priest would roar, his flaming staff casting sparks and smoke about him as he’d rise “NOT IN MY TEMPLE YOU SUBHUMANS” he’d scream, the primal rage of old taking his veins. How dare they violate the guestright, how dare they taint hallowed grounds. Yet more and more of them slunk from the shadows, Nordishmen and mercenaries alike approached with deadly intent, the tabards of Silversteed, of Rorik, of Rosik all present.

 

“Step away from the traitor, Aeyn” they said, pleadingly “We do not want to kill you”. Yet he would not be swayed. Facing down his companions, his kin, his battle brothers the priest stood. His chin raised arrogantly against his own doom “Any man that harms these men further will incur bloodfeud with the Edvardsson” He’d croak “But your sins to the Father, these cannot be forgiven by me, grovel before the Father and beg for his forgiveness” he’d continue his voice even and low. From beyond came the sounds of nailed boots, the tavern having emptied at the shouting. The banners of Caunter and a collection of townsfolk arrived. Chief amongst them Ein and Cassio. Briefly assessing the situation they drew blades and set forth, intent on subduing those who would break sacred law, who would draw weapons on hallowed ground in violence.

 

Without further words battle was joined, the outnumbered defenders swiftly subdued by the assassins. The bannermen of Caunter secured as Aeyn and Ein were pulled to their feet. Once more they limped to stand before Landry Caunter. “You will have to kill me if you wish to kill this man” The wounded priest would cough. The Caunter bannermen were dragged to the center of the room, limp and unconscious. And in the center of the Temple, each was slaughtered like an animal. A brute, efficient slash to the throat. Then their limp still oozing bodies were cast aside, like refuse.

 

“Perhaps we should depart” muttered Vladimyr, clad in the Rosiik colours, he’d look about uncomfortably fiddling with the Fatherist token strung about his neck. It in turn splattered in the blood of his fellow Fatherist. His fellows ignored him, pressing forward to slay Landry, yet shielded by the wounded yet resolute defenders of the Temple. Once more battle was joined, the warsong echoing about the high walls of the monastery. Blade on blade, steel on steel. Screams filled the night as men were butchered in the cramped confines of the monastery. Each in turn adding to the cacophony of war, the symphony of death. Aeyn, locked in battle with an imperial legionnaire. Cast them down, bleeding heavily before Vladimyr Rosik slid his blade through his back. Flow of battle seemed to slow as all would watch the man fall, his body rent from abuse. His flaming staff falling from his hands and clattering to the cobbles. The High Keeper was dead, slain by his own kin. Betrayed by his own brothers in arms. Truly a befitting death for a Ruric.

 

As Aeyn fell his heart was filled with regret and sorrow. He had failed. To spread the faith, to defend his young nephew and grand nephew. To build a Norland worth having. His defiance, his stubbornness, his honour had cost him his life. Yet as his lifeblood leaked from his body all his achievements meant nothing. His young sons, mere children not yet having seen ten winters would be orphans. Their mother long gone. His brother would be left bereft of his council, his kingdom still enmeshed in war. His close friends Solvi and Tyr Faretto would never again grace his ears with their laughter, their bickering, the heartening cries of their children. “Farewell” he’d mutter, closing his eyes one last time. Thus, death took him.

 

Some cried out in horror as they watched the once vital man fall, others simply remained silent. Coming to turns with the gravity of their actions. To slay traitors was one thing, to sin, but to slay the High Keeper. Such could not be so easily forgiven. The temple defenders were each in turn bound. Landry struggling mightily to touch the corpse of his adopted father one last time, tears streaming down his cheeks. Yet before he could, he we dragged away. All resistance gone as the cooling corpses faded from view. Then, as  his clanfolk and his uncle before him. His life was cut short. William of Silversteed denying him his right of last words as he would slaughter the bound man with his blade. So death took Landry of Caunter.

 

Returning to the hall the murderous band noticed Ein, chancellor of Norland and friend of Aeyn. Though both arm and foot were bound, he crawled with his chin. Desperately trying to be near Aeyn one last time before his own death. With tears streaming down his eyes he’d manage to rest his forehead on the chest of his beloved battle brother. The band would look about arguing amongst themselves whether or not the defenders should be slain, they could serve as witnesses, feudsmen for the future. So long as they lived there would be no peace. One by one they uttered their assent first William of Silversteed, releasing a brief “Aye” then the Vladimyr uttering a quiet “nay” followed by the legionary and the mercenary each in turn uttering “Aye”, So it was decided. Then almost lazily the legionnaire turned piercing the back of Ein’s skill with their blade as they wept atop the chest of their slain companion. So death took Ein of Yaander. Then, the cold eyes of the band turned to Cassio. “Put me with Aeyn” he said coldly, his eyes like daggers rending the soul of each murderer. So he was lain next to the now cool body of Aeyn, and his throat was unceremoniously slit. His blood leaked onto the saturated cobbles of the monastery, quickly becoming sticky as the violence settled. So death took Cassio of Dunharrow. And it was done.

 

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OOC:

 

Spoiler

 

My character was just killed as he got caught in the middle of a blood feud between two Nordish clans. The RP was excellent from all involved (with the exception of SneakyBandit trolling and saying the occasional ‘epic gamer moment’). That being said I think this will be the last time I am involved in Norland. I have, through my time on lotc been involved if not central to this RP nation for 5+ years now. I don’t think it's unfair to say I am as close as one can get to being the founder of this group. Yet, I’ve come to hate what it has become. Those who knew me when I was a bright eyed newish player might remember my penchant for noobs. I had, at the time been ejected from every nation on the map. No one would accept me because I was a bit of a sperg in a time when spergs weren’t particularly tolerated. Certainly not if they combined that with the rampant ambition I had at the time.

 

So I built what would eventually become Norland. I gathered misfits and outcasts and anyone who really just wanted to play on the server. We all became fast friends and had countless adventures. From Riding mammoths in the far north, facing down satan, fighting a pitched battle on the rotting corpse of a dead whale, raiding the coasts of heartland empire, endlessly fighting with everyone ever. Norland was founded on that idea. New players coming together to have great experiences and accepting anyone that wanted to contribute to that experience. I can’t say that same principle endures today.

 

Somewhere along the way after Seahelm Norland ceased to be. Perhaps it merely stopped being what I wanted it to be. On occasion the old spirit would revive, the Krag for example, or Nordengrad. But otherwise I felt increasingly alienated from something I had helped build. Rather than be accepting of new players they were isolated, mocked, driven out merely because they were not ‘OG’. A funny term coming from players who joined in Vailor and Axios. I saw an increasingly toxic culture become the norm in our community and a level of elitism that was in my eyes unacceptable. I have tried many times to fix it, to the constant cries of “let it die”. Which always seem to be said the loudest by the very people who join once a new incarnation of the nation is built.

 

To me, as the last of the founding members of this nation. I cannot say I like what it has become. And I know a great deal of veteran Norland players can say the same. I wish Lion nothing but the best of luck. But I feel my time being involved in Norland has long passed. I have lost the majority of the friends I have made on the server due to the ooc politics and toxicity of this group. Lost to ambition, backstabbing, toxicity. Who can really say. But I am on amicable terms with a very small portion of the genuinely Norlandic population. I’ve put over 400 pages of lore into the religion and culture of this nation. Which I suppose will be a shame to let go. But it’s time to let those who care to take the reins free of my influence or involvement. My best wishes to the next generation.

 

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[Askuzai 505]

Cassio’s soul rests with the Allfather now. All he could hope is that his scruffy little bird made it all the way to his love to deliver what would become an unfortunate goodbye.

[Nectorist 12869]

Vladimyr Rosik, his hands still tainted with the blood of his former allies, staggers out of the city. 

 

It was my blade that felled Aeyn, within his own temple too.

 

The thought of it gnawed at him, and the guilt which dragged his heart to the depths of despair was just as greedily consuming.

 

Could there be a man as despicable as myself? Could a man slay his kin, leave his beaten friends for dead, and fail to look upon the blank, lifeless faces that he created?

 

He was proof enough of that.

 

Is there atonement, penance, forgiveness even, for those who have done the worst, yet cower from the consequences of their actions?

[Ivoreyy 2303]

Alana Caunter ponders if the so called ‘Caunter Curse’ would someday claim her life too, as it had her two brothers, father, mother, grandfather and grandmother.

 

Guilt and grief cloud her already addled mind as she turns her back upon the gates of Dunharrow for a final time.

[Aquaquean 80]

Edyth’s lips twist into a faint, indefinable line as news of the event reaches her. She turns away and casts down her gaze to the rough floorboards under her feet.

 

”Paragons keep you,” the woman murmurs, burying her head in her hands as she remembers the keeper who had saved her life in Vilachia and the man Cassio who she had known since she was a child.

[Cleggmire_ 130]

     Reynault Fournier sat morose on the ground before the gargantuan keep in the Duchy of Courland. He peered down at his armor, still corroded and rusty. The campfires burned brightly that night; outside of the keep. One by one, he removed his armor, and let it fall into the enveloping flame. “I borrowed this armor with intent to repay. How else could I repay the debt you requested, but to send it to your god.” He muttered, alone in the dark. The armor crackled, and melted under the inferno, as Reynault looked on; he booted the earth briefly before trudging off, back turned to the fire..

[lucasking321 124]

Jorii Ruric would sit silently under the Ashtree. He’d begin to tear up after the news of both of his kin passings. ”Why are all my brothers dying?”  Jorii would think back to all the good times he shared with both Aeyn and Landry. ”fok this war....“ He’d pause for a moment ”all it brings is death.”  Jorii would take a deep breath “May the All-Father guide ye”  He’ d say before getting up and walking back into the Ruric hall.

[drfate786 1690]

Upon hearing of Aeyn’s death Alifer Amice’s face would contort into a snarl of rage, he’d curl his fists. Yet another had been slain by his kin, yet another high priest of the faith had been stopped. Alifer was done, he would find those responsible and bring them to trial by fire.

 

 

[LaviniaTheRider 60]

Solvi would likely be told by her husband, Tyr, of the news. She wouldn’t even hear the end of her dear husband’s sentence, a dull nothing filling her ears. Her expression falls, not to one of sadness but instead to nothing. The pulse of her heart pounds in her ears, filling the void of sound. Shock is something she has rarely felt to this degree. Once it fades, after a long and arduous pause, Solvi gasps for breath and falls to the floor within their Norlandic home. She clutches at her chest as if she’d been struck, croaking, “No..” She looks to Tyr, eyes pleading for him to tell her something else, anything else.

But he couldn’t, and would not lie to her. And with that, she breaks, her battered and broken heart losing another piece. Tears well and fall from her eyes freely, though she didn’t notice when they had started. She weeps, body wracked with sobs as she mourns for her lost friend, the man who introduced her and her husband, and married them before the All-Father. The man who near constantly gave her ****, who drank and passed out in her tavern on a regular basis, and nearly lit her ceiling on fire every time he came in with that damned flamebrand. The man she would have chosen to be the caretaker of her children any day of the week, should anything happen to Tyr and herself. The man she chose to be her brother and family, with his characteristic mask and attitude. A man she now mourns more than she ever did her biological brothers.

 

Solvi holds her children and her husband close, praying before the Hearthfire that the All-Father gives guidance to her family to see them through this hard time, and gives Aeyn rest after the dedication he has shown towards the faith. She only wishes he had seen her put on the same type of mask that he so characteristically wore.

 

 

[Draiden 326]

Tyr would hear the clash of steel during one of his night time walks along the riverbank, through the Golden Fields of Dunharrow. It hadn’t occured to him that it might’ve been an actual battle, since the sound of sword-fighting was a constant sound in a war-torn nation like Norland. He would continue his walk, and wouldn’t return to the Dunharrow gates until long after Aeyn’s flamebrand was as cold as its owner’s body, fancying a short prayer at the temple before bed. A guardsman shouted down from the parapets to Tyr, urging him to the temple, and that Aeyn had been slain.

 

What came next was an icy chill and disbelief. Adrenaline flew him forward as he sprinted to the temple, breaking out into a cold sweat. It was there he found him, lying in front of the Holy Hearth with a gaping wound in his chest. His flamebrand lay next to him, cold and dark. Tyr didn’t cry. He should’ve. Instead he uttered a short prayer for his soul, hoping it finds its way the the All-Father when they burn him. “See you later, Brother.” Tyr would state, solemn and blank, before leaving. He suddenly lost his appetite for prayer.

[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.