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The Ashing of Edyth

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The Ashing of Edyth

Issued Winter 1745

Spoiler

 

 


To the Rurikid and the Highland Folk

 

For many years, my sister by way of Edvard II has offended our Holy Blood, has rejected the Father, has betrayed her people. To be a Fatherist is more than paying lip service. To be a Ruric is more than parentage. In both regards Edyth has utterly abandoned her responsibilities. Fornicating with Heartlanders, failing her holy obligation as a Ruric, her obligation to defend and spread the flame. There are only so many offences against the Father and the Holy Blood I can tolerate.

 

As High Chieftain of the Rurikid I declare Edyth of Nowhere an Ash. No longer is she entitled to the name, or the privilege of Ruric. No longer is she to consider herself of the Edvards. Should she claim Rurikid or Edvardsson she shall be immediately be put to death. Furthermore she is permanently barred from all holdfasts controlled by or sworn to the Edvardssons. Her presence in any of them shall warrant immediate execution by way of beheading and subsequent preservation of the body. 

 

By authority of the High Keeper, Edyth Ash is denied access to all Holy Hearths, Edyth Ash is denied access to all Holy Shrines. Edyth Ash is furthermore denied prayer or the wearing or crafting of holy tokens. Any Fatherist relic or paraphernalia upon her person shall result in immediate execution by way of hanging. Followed by preservation of the body.

 

The High Hearth has determined that Edyth Ash is an active threat to the Greater Good, with the degree and frequency of her treachery being unprecedented in the history of the Faith. Certainly more so than the offences of Jevan. To that end Edyth Ash is permanently denied the Father’s mercy. Her flesh is not to be burned upon execution. Nor is she to be freed from her flesh. Her soul in such a decrepit state beyond salvation that even the Abyss would be a mercy. Should she succumb to death she is to be surrendered to the Cryptkeeper Amice for preservation and entombment. 

 

Goodbye little sister, for today you died.


Writ en Namen de

Godric,

High Keeper, Faretto III

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Edited by Narthok

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Alaric would close his eyes, the weight of the bags beneath them becoming ever present as he sat in his silence. The small music box beside his bed ticking quietly, it’s song breaking more and more as his family grew smaller. The song that once held him together as a young boy after his fathers death only reminded him of his solitude now. Alaric would reminisce on when he and Edyth were children playing throughout the town with their friends, making their secret bases and playing hide and seek. “I wonder, how different things would have ended up had father taken us on that fishing trip that day...” he’d say to himself. Lowering his head and opening his eyes he would notice the music had stopped.

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The first time that Lyanna allowed herself to fall into tears was the night her father's killer was burnt. She shook with rage. Rage and fiery indignation. Then she counted the minutes until her eyes dried, and went to read her studies.

 

The second came only for a cruel and passing moment; the loss of a sister, who will draw breath as a stranger from then on. She closed her lips tight, her face as typically gaunt as her ancestor's, and stood at loss for what to do. 

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Edvard would watch from the heavens as his children turned on each other. He lowered his head, and wept.

I should of been there...”

Edited by Lionbileti

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Godric would rise from his prayers, the harsh shrine of Edvard worn by the winds and ice of the Northmarch winters. As he’d cast his eyes south watching the men of Russ and Darrowmere drag a bagged woman south, his eyes would dim slightly. A part of his soul forever dying at that moment. So many Rurics fallen from the narrow path placed on their shoulders. Born to rule, born to die for those whom they were to serve and protect. Such harsh invisible chains shackled them all. With that final thought his visage hardened, there was no greater sin than tolerance. Should any rotten root be tolerated, then the entire tree would come crashing down. It was the Father’s will..

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Spoiler

 

 

 

“Hello there, Edyth.” A familiar voice, one that had once been an ally. Hesitation, innate distrust of his tone and new uniform. He had murdered his leader, he shouldn’t be trusted. Yet, Edyth had always been a trusting soul. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I wish to show you something.” 

 

“I shouldn’t..” She’d responded, instinct telling her to flee from him like a rabbit flees from the coyote. Yet her trusting and naive heart left her standing there.

 

“I’m your old friend.” Swifty responded, sounding hurt. “Haense really has corrupted your mind. Come, let’s go to Curon.” 

 

Even when I was AIS and he was with the ISA he didn’t hurt me, surely it can’t be so different this time.

 

So Edyth followed, a mistake on her part. It was a blur, they arrived at Adria, he attempted to force her to take a note to Haense, information on the AIS. She refused, this was not her war, not her crime. A horse rider struck her from behind, not trampling yet knocking her to the ground all the same. Searing pain from her ribs, but she did not resist. Even when she was tackled she remained silent, save for a tiny whimper of agony as her hands were bound and her head bagged. She knew her fate, it had been decided long ago when her father had died, when her countrymen had tried to take her life as a child, and then again as a teen, it was decided when she had fled Morsgrad. 

 

Why.

 

Carried to Morsgrad on his shoulder, Edyth remained silent. Thrown to the ground and the bag removed from her head, she remained silent. 

 

“Welcome home child.”

 

 The men and women of Morsgrad surrounded her, only three familiar faces in the crowd. Godric’s face was cold, unforgiving. Solvi’s voice was disguised by her mask, yet her tone of hate was evident all the same. 

 

Fornicator” called the crowd. “Traitor.” They snarled.

 

“No longer a child of the Ash it seems you have grown black feathers and become a crow.” Godric said, tone cold. 

 

A blur.

 

She felt numb, as though her body wasn’t her own. Rotten potatoes, stale bread, jeering insults thrown at the girl who sat, hands bound behind her, head lowered in shame. It struck her, yet it felt so far away, very faintly she felt the impact, could sense the bruises they would promise for tomorrow, yet she was unable to react, unable to take hold of herself, as though slipping from her own body. She spoke in response to her brother and to the High Keeper who had once held her and cried in joy at her return, yet the words did not come from her mind, as though instinct carried her, guiding her to safety from her previous ignoral. 

 

“Die a Ruric or live an Ash.” Decreed Godric 

 

“I will live as an Ash.” She responded, for in truth, she had not felt like a Ruric since the first time her countrymen had betrayed her, or even further back, when she had burned Vlad’s body. She was never going to be a Ruric, her mother’s clan was too strong within her heart. It had only been a matter of time. 

 

Edyth, my proud girl. Her father’s dying words echoed in her mind. You have given me so much joy, and taught me joy can make a man go so far. Her eyes glistened, but she did not weep. She remained silent as the bag was placed upon her head once more, herself lifted upon Swifty’s shoulder once more. 

 

How different it would have been...had you not died, Da.

 

Another stale loaf of bread struck her head.

 

Or if I had been born with a Ruric heart like my siblings. 

 

A potato struck her shoulder this time, the  peasants of Morsgrad unleashing their hatred for the southerners upon a girl who had never held contempt for either side. A girl who had merely chosen to love outside of her faith. A girl who could scarce breathe and was no threat, but nonetheless a girl who had been born into a family and was doomed to an expectation as comes with all noble birth, especially those of Ruric blood. 

 

The next few days found her wandering until her injuries ached too much to continue. Face, shoulders, and back all black and blue from the beating she had endured. Yet the physical pain was nothing, the heart ache and emptiness from it all scorched her emotionally, leaving her raw and in agony. 

 

Lee lee...Allie... 

 

Childhood names she had called her older siblings, a final thought as sleep finally took her, terrified and alone.

 

She was truly Edyth of Nowhere. 

Edited by rukio

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A man rises from his slumber only to be met with this harsh news. His lips pull into a tight frown as his mind slowly kindles, processing the event. After a solemn sigh he recollects all the time spent with his cousin. The memories between him and Edyth were mixed far and few between with some being muddled together by the girls past identity, a flash of his sword stabbing through Vladimyr’s neck, it wasnt enough to cull his feelings of dread. It had been quite a while since Chadmyr had contemplated the bottle, and this time, his premonitions rung true and his wills failed him. . .

 

That morning he had left his bedchamber to go and perform the daily duties of a Keeper - Stumbling as he went.

Edited by Knightie

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Swifty Sam would chuckle to himself, having brought Edyth in, he was pleased with the result of his work. He throws the note into the fire in front of him, putting his feet up after a long day of work.d53rzbv-29953e33-67ca-4b43-9a15-1ccedab8

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“Damn, she’s worse than me,” says the long-dead Vladimyr, his normally-wretched soul finding within itself pity for the young girl who had freed him from his earthly confines.

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Ser Loras of Lorraine stands in the crowd, watching over the proceedings.

He shakes his head resentfully, showing his disdain for the woman known

as Edyth. He lifts his visor ever so slightly to spit at the woman’s feet as she 

sits still in the mud. Once Godric concludes his impassioned speech, he

speaks a few words.

 

“Ave! True to Godric! Praise be to his mercy and wisdom. 

Despite this filthy wretch’s treachery, the most honorable

Godric gave her the choice to live or die. Alas, once more

this craven shows her true colors, groveling for her life instead

of paying her debt in blood. Truly a miserable wretch she is.”

 

Ser Loras reaches into his satchel retrieving not one, but two potatoes.

He firmly grasps the rotting tatters, one in his left hand and the other in his right.

As Edyth rises from the filth, where she belongs, he hurls them directly

at the woman’s head.

 

“Shame!”

 

He cries out, utterly disgusted by the miserable woman’s mere existence.

 

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