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A Tale of Two Brothers


Jaigalar

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A Tale of Two Brothers

 

16th of the Sun’s Smile, 1720

Spoiler

 

 

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  “Hey, brother did you want to grab a drink with me? It’s on you.”

 

As the day drew to a close, the two Alimar brothers sat at Harold Bell’s tavern in Reza. Prince Georg arrived with Godfric shortly following after him. Georg sat down at the barstool and beckoned the barmaid, Sarah Kortrevich, over and motioned his brother forward, mina in hand ready to indulge his younger brother’s appetite for drink. As the whiskey glasses clinked down onto the table surface, Georg immediately grabbed one and voraciously consumed its contents before peering to his brother. The stresses of the Regency and the war had taken their toll on the young statesman, whose hairs grew every more gray and whose eyes now stricken with a lack of sleep. Georg began to weep and placed his head down onto the table, ruminating his predicament and that of the people entrusted to his care.

 

Godfric sat beside his brother, releasing a sigh as the other Alimar began to weep, the tolls of the war had made the two brothers bitter and in the case of Georg, filled with grief. The senior Alimar made a few awkward comments in an attempt to ease his brothers worries, assuring him that he did not stand alone and that no matter the circumstance Godfric, Otto, all the Alimars, all of the Haeseni would stand behind him. He pursed his lips as he continued to comfort his brother, offering the occasional reassuring, though awkward, pat to his back. He offered a vacant stare to the rest of the tavern as Georg and him sat silently, their heads held low.

 

Before long, the Renatian Dragon Knights, some four strong entered the tavern, their crimson plate visible to all who sat inside. Georg kept his head down as he continued to remain in his drunken stupor while the others, as well as his older brother Godfric, looked vigilantly at the intruders. An exchange of rather unkind “pleasantries” were delivered betwixt the two parties. Georg then rose his head and noticed the knights at the doorway, however, he was too inebriated to react quickly. The barmaid beckoned Georg to enter, which he slowly stood up and followed before slumping over the bar.

 

The few Haeseni stood little chance against the Dragon Knights, yet they unsheathed their swords all the same. The two parties eyed each other for a brief moment before the fight erupted. Godfric tried to get his brother out of harm's way, tried to fend off any he could that sought to make their way to Georg, but it was not enough. The Alimars and the Haeseni that stood by them exchanged a few blows with the knights, but were easily overrun and forced behind the bar, cornering them with no chance of escape. With the only path being ahead, through the Renatians, they were overcome and either slaughtered or knocked unconscious. In the case of Georg and Godfric, the two brothers were bound and dragged off, seeing the walls of Reza for the last time as they were carried through the fields.

 

Upon seeing the purple colors of the Helena walls, Georg still remained in a drunken state as Ser Ulric and Godfric were hoisted atop the Dragon Knights’s shoulders and into a prison complex within the walls. Each of the three Haeseni men were locked away separately in a respective cell, their wounds from the combat left unattended. As blood emitted from their bodies, the Dragon Knights began their interrogation.

 

Godfric said nothing as he was tossed into the cell, blood continued to pour from the fresh wound atop his head, all due to his remaining ear having been cut off by Ser Gregor. He heard very little, but could make out the remaining sounds as he stirred slightly in his unconscious state, though it was not enough to make a difference. He heard the ramblings of his brother as he was interrogated, and the harsh questioning from the Renatians that began to gather. He let no sob or tear escape him as he sat there, facing the harsh reality of what was to come. His thoughts drifted to his family, his brothers who had always been by his side, no matter the circumstances. He thought of his nephews, Vladrick and Kazimar who he had seen grow into capable men. He thought of nothing but home, and to him home was Georgie, Otto, and the remaining Alimars. He scanned the damp and dark cell he sat in with tired eyes before they began to flutter shut, he propped himself up against the nearby wall, his eyes shut for the last time thereafter.

 

As he lay slumped vertically on the thin wooden plank, Georg’s thigh was left with a deep gash from the cut of Ser Antun Kastrovat’s sword. The blood poured onto the mushroom-ridden bench as he was left there. Georg was then asked questions concerning his station, yet he was unable to respond aside from the small slurring his words, unaware of his location. He did not know his brother had already preceded him unto death, and was unable to move. William came to inquire Prince Georg, yet was unable to get past the latter’s drunken stupor. In an attempt to help regain Georg’s consciousness, William pressed a torch onto the Prince Regent’s throat. The trauma of the burn to his weak constitution, coupled with the lightheadedness and the sustained heavy blood loss from his thigh had broken Georg’s threshold. As the last sight was his stoney cell in the adversarial capital, the flickering torch that was pressed on his throat was the last sight for Georg’s eyes grew weaker and weaker. He remembered his promise to Marius, to Andrik, to his family to protect the sovereignty and integrity of the North with his life.

 

He breathed his last.

 

 


 

REQUIESCAT IN PACE

Prinzen Godfric Branimar Barbanov-Alimar

1688 - 1720

 

Prinzen Georg Stanimar Barbanov-Alimar

1692-1720

 

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THE NORTH REMEMBERS

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Ser Henrik Ludovar hearing upon the news would throw his glass against the wall.

“Too many people have died to this war that Renatus wants to continue as this went from many dear friends like Ser Dominic Grimm to now my cousins. This war must stop as this amount of bloodshed and deaths of the Canonist people must stop as this war will never bring mankind to trust or work with one another.”

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The Grand Knight of the Renatus smiles the sun’s smile after leading another victorious raid into the city of Reza

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The Lord Justiciar of Renatus offers the Prince Regent a prayer as he snuffs the light from his dull eyes with a torch.

 

“I hope you find the Seven Skies. It is unfortunate your family had not your mind.”

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Nikoletta Sofia, a young illatian lady,  had seen the remains of the dead man’s body in the cell. Now quite traumatized, she recalls seeing his cell moments after his death.

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In the depths of the Wildlands, Aleksandra would ruminate of the men’s well-beings, tending to her nursing child’s dark, wispy locks. She frowns as her eyes peer ahead, scrutinizing the murky azuline shores but a short distance away. “How I miss those runts,” The aged princess laments, unaware of how the men she had once quarreled with succumbed to grisly demises. “I’ll see you soon, you rats,” She mutters, before setting young Robert in a makeshift crib.

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Hearing the news Duncan’s head falls into hands as a tear falls from his face. “Great men taken too early...thank you for your sacrifices. they shan’t be in vain...The North Remembers...”

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Mariya returns to the gates of Reza, the young girl hearing word of the deaths upon her arrival. She recalls a time in which Godfric had prevented her timely murder, and as for Georg- only wishing she’d created those stained glass windows as promised.

 

She immediately turns back outward- hoping to catch her companion before he could hear of the news himself. 

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Hussain Faheem takes off his hat as he look down at the paperGOD ay just done saw him two saint weeks ago, may GOD rest his sowl he were ayy great man ta drink with with those there vodka ayn' whiskey.” he said with a sad frown “imma gunna honaw him by a-shootin' up some dead carcass..” he straps the crossbow and begin grabbing a bunching of fire rockets and bag of Bolts on his way out of the door with a tear in his eye.

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Somewhere in the wilds of Atlas a young warrior kneels mourning the loss of two of his friends. He lights a couple candles placing them atop of smooth stones that lay near a pond.  ”May my friends and my betters find long lasting and overdue peace in the halls of our GOD. Georg and Godfric were true sons of the north both stubborn and strong.”  the young warrior would choke on his words and shed a few tears.

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Amelia Philippa blanched upon hearing the news as guilt  had gripped her. She recalled meeting Aleksandra's relatives fondly, and the aged woman once more regretted the cost of war. 

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Ser Antun Kastrovat places the book he was reading down on the tabletop, peering down into the street from the windows of the manor. He’d followed alongside Ser Rodrik and Ser Gregor for quite some time, and while he enjoyed the camaraderie, he sometimes questioned the actions his duties demanded he takes.  He let out a sigh and returned to his seat, flipping back to the page he’d left off on. “A damn shame,” he uttered, shaking his head slightly.

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Rolf Barclay hung his head when the news spreads across the city of Reza. Another two good men lost to the tyranny of Renatus. Where is the world going next? Will he be able to protect his family?

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Within a quiet home in Helena, a figure bent over his blade, digits clasping a cloth around its hilt. Blood began to gather on the rag, staining it crimson by the time it had reached the weapon’s tip. Edwin’s gaze lingered, the vivid sight of drunk merriments, then deperate cries and tears replaying in his eyes. By the time his gaze had returned to the cleaning, the soggy rag had leaked, blood seeping from the bottom. His hands were stained- it would be a sleepless night.

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