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Icarnus

INSTRUMENT OF CORONATION

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“I see.” notes Silus, reading the missive bearing the news. “Will not make a difference.” he concludes after a minute, turning back to the Chronometer he has been working on.

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Jaxon Hargrave reads the report sadly, he silently weeps for the Lord Protecter, the man he spent his life as a soldier serving since Adria

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Cetibor lights a candle for Adrian,

 

“The realm weeps for its lost child, Godan save us.”

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Helaine de Sarkozy, upon hearing the news, kept her chambers for the rest of the day mourning her cousin, Adrian. She prepared to adorn herself in black clothing due to the great loss to her family, ”May you rest in peace, dear cousin. We will all miss you greatly.”

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Henry Sarkozic looks over the missive, raising a brow at it before setting it to a side, thinking long and hard.

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Katrien de Ruyter sat within her keep, the news of the Lord-Protector’s death striking her with solemn. She would silently sign the cross of Lorraine to herself. ”May GOD be with him.” 

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o7

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Lucille’s forehead puckers as she overhears the news, “Despite your rudeness towards me, I wouldn’t wish death upon anyone. Do rest in peace.” 

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From across the sea an aged man catches word of the succession a few months later. With a content nod he returns to his elven harem, delighted by the events afar. He contemplates a return, but soon returns to a drunken stupor, quickly forgetting all together.

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Lorena set alight a candle, though it was veiled by the groveling aura of the Meszair palace crypts, it’s radiance shedding no contrast of golden hue upon the twittering of dusk-ridden bats which cowered from the purdah donned in her approach, nor on the bristling of melodious crickets which wept a lonesome tale of lament and remembrance to the man she’d realized as the embodiment of the father she’d lost in a disconsolate youth; For he was strong of heart yet narrow of mind, excepting times when he needed his mind most.

 

Stopping upon a pillar of stone and marble, her body crept downwards to settle a knitted husk of black iris flowers atop the baluster of Adrian’s gravestone, whispering a singular prayer to herself as she weaned away from the path, and away from a past in dispirit.

 

 

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“May the future of the Holy Orenian Empire be fortunate, thank you for your service Lord Protector Adrian.”  Desmond would say resting his concerned visage.

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“Glory to god! Glory to thou empire!” The poet, lady Capet would say as she took her morning cup of tea in her small home in the city of Helena.

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The young Lord Robert Vyronov hears of the news

“Who is the Anthony Sigismund?... better not be a Horen cause we suffered enough throughout their reigns of terror and bloodshed.”

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Leonard II frowns at the news of his long-time liege nearing his end. 
“In life with service and in death with respect old friend.”

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