Our Ester

[BenevolentManacles 2232]

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgIwr5bGGNI

 

Spoiler

 

A door slammed, loudly, resonating through the halls of the Palace Avalain.

 

From within the chambers of the First Minister, chaos filled the empty halls outside. The quiet palace turned battlefield as furniture was thrown to the ground, bottles clashing with the hard oaken floorboards. John had lost all audience to his rage, and so he was alone to soak himself in it. The aging Knight, his face filled with rage, cracked the knuckles of his fist against the corner’s standing mirror. It split into a thousand pieces, splitting throughout it like a spiderweb, but it did not shatter.
 

John huffed, his entire body swelling with every heavy breath. His gaudy doublet and golden chain rested unkempt on his form as each swell grew smaller and his breath steadied. He suddenly threw his hands into his hair, interlacing them with each other and crouching down to the ground. He squinted his eyes harshly as he did all he could to subdue the wrenching emptiness he felt in the moment.

 

He sprang to his feet, tugging his dagger from his belt and turning the blade in his hand, pressing the tip of the weapon under his chin, aiming it upwards into his skull. He knuckles pale to white and start to shake, his eyes still tightly squeezed shut. He grit his teeth, and let out a guttural scream, throwing the dagger across the room where it slammed against the wall and clattered to the floor. He shook his head as his breath steadied once again, and plunged his hand into his coat. He produced from it an iron flask, and quickly unscrewed it, moving to lift it to his lips.

He stops for a moment, sniffing the harsh whiskey. He gives the drink a nonverbal condemnation, but then brings it to his lips, taking a long drink.His nerves settling, he walked slowly through the room. She had told him that he cared nothing for days gone by. She was right, of course, in so many ways.

 

He walked, his gait labored, toward his desk. A lamplight beamed over him as he sat down, taking another short swig from his flask and setting it on the far end of the mahogany surface, a quiet thud as it landed.

 

He lifted his quill, and dipped it.

 

 

 

My fellow man,

 

The fight we fight is not trivial. This is not a war for peace, not anymore. These demons have stolen from me, from you, from all of us. We lived once, not long ago, peacefully. Then this Godric threatened it. It was also not long ago that, during that peace, we were divided in ideal and goal, constantly pulling at each other for authorities and independences. Now we stand shoulder to shoulder, a bulwark against the dark future our foes would impose on the world.

 

I’ve lost my Emperor, Alexander, and my Protector, Adrian. Now I have lost my Queen, my dear Ester, when it was not her time to go. The Duke Godric pretends that he has done something honorable in giving her a quick death. He fancies himself a nobleman, holding noble hostages, feigning honorable intention, delivering offers of ransom. Yet here, an innocent woman who had no army and who wanted only for peace and her people, was butchered in the street.

 

His men dragged her body to the gates of Avalain and tossed it to the ground, telling our townspeople that if they stayed in Avalain, they would suffer the same fate. Godric is not noble, or honorable. He is a manipulative creature, and at his core lacking in all principle. He will do anything to achieve his goals, including discarding my Ester’s corpse on the ground, using her as a threat of impending cruelty. Yet he would pretend he cares for her or her children, whom he stole her from with no purpose other than to sew discord and chaos for his own gain.

 

I can no longer spit the rambling, humble words of a man who hates conflict and seeks to fight a war in good spirit and without vindication. Now, the fire of vengeance consumes me altogether. I am a slave to it.

 

I will avenge my dear Ester, or I will die trying. Yet I will not do it alone. I am but one instrument in our glorious symphony, whose movements are the vitals of our struggle.

 

Ser John of Nowhere

 

[squakhawk 14038]

Lucian Renault pondered the man’s thoughts. 

”The woman died with an army’s worth of honor and accepted death. The moment that blade struck her was the moment your puppet mouthed a new leader for her place. If you believe honor or principle is what Godric lacks, I ask you to look toward the men who not only started this war, but continue to send more men to die to it.”

[LithiumSedai 5750]

A Waldenian craftsman fashions a wooden puppet resembling a certain alcoholic false knight. His hand adorned with a black cloth glove in the shape of a crow, with a flick of his wrist he swayed the rod to which the puppet’s strings were tied, effortlessly making it dance as he spoke in a high-pitched voice. “We had peace once,” the puppet shrieked in its borrowed tone, as its avian puppeteer manipulated the Three-Month War to end the Horen dynasty. “I miss my Emperor,” the puppet wailed, poisoning the Horen Emperor’s food and drink with a tug of its string. “Our Lord-Protector was a great man,” the puppet exclaimed in a shrill tone, its master recoiling from the failure the Krugmar expedition would have been without the assistance of Alstion generals and Morsgrad berserkers. “They seek to destroy our culture,” the wooden knight proclaimed through an ear-piercing screech, setting aflame the Lorrainian fields and the Renatian war memorial as the Carrion crow tugged upon his strings. “Godric is a manipulative creature,” the puppet-creature concluded, stubby legs swaying in a jig to please its Carrion puppeteer.

[Narthok 10416]

“Remember how you contributed to the attempted theft of her titles you cowardly disgusting snake, Crawl back to your hole in the south.” Godric would spit upon reading the public missive, it having just been handed to him by the austere Mr Mittens. 

[Kursion 463]

“We will all miss Ester, now it’s time to go back to work and honour her death” Tobias Merentel would say as he readed the missive

[chaotikal 2392]

In the west, a group of well armored knights and their retinue hears of the news of the death of Ester, mourning it deeply, yet they look towards the east suspiciously, knowing there to be more than a simple death.

[AutumnSoul 218]

An ancient Curonian woman stands upon the walls of Avalain. Her long gray hair, which she usually kept tied up in a neat style, now fell loose all around her shoulders and back. She stood upon the walls of her homeland, propped up by the help of  her cane and let out a small sigh as the wind from the frozen ocean bays rolled through the air and gently brushed against her. The elder’s pale and tired eyes looked out towards the horizon where the last rays of sunlight peaked above the horizon.

“I have stood upon the walls of my homeland, upon the walls of both Avalain and Cyrilsburg, and seen so many men and women that I have known since their birth pass unto our blessed Seven Skies. I am but the last remnant of the old guard . .  .of the Cyrillians of the past, having long outlived my time upon this world by many many years. Yet, here I still remain. I do not know if it is a true blessing or a curse if I am to be ever truthful.”

Lowering her head the ancient woman tightened her grip upon her cane and closed her eyes

”My dear princess. I was there in court when they announced you were to be born, just as I had been there for your fathers, King Jarrcks, many many years prior. You were never fated to lead our nation,  for many reasons such as your gender and your father’s foolish legacy that almost brought an end to the nation you and I both called home. However, fate is rarely ever carved in stone as you so proved when you became the head of our glorious nation.”

The elder woman raised her head and looked once more over the icy shores of her homeland and watched as the sun sank below the dim horizon

”I had my fears your legacy would be nothing more than a repeat of your pathetic fathers . . . but I it seems I had placed my fears in nothing. Your legacy will be that in which we do not scorn nor be ashamed of. Never shall a Curonian cast your name aside in favor of another. You were a beacon of hope in one of this nations darkest hours. You strove to rebuild that in which your predecessors had let decay, our reputation and honor.”

”Rest now my dear princess. Find peace in that you are the very reason our nation is still alive today and we shall always remember you as one of the greatest rulers our nation has and will ever see.” 

”Perhaps soon I shall join you in the Seven Skies and together we can sit with the Curonians of old, our brothers and sisters, and laugh together as we once did not so long ago. May God Bless your soul my dear Ester and may you find nothing but peace and happiness in the next life.” 
 

[nevy40 405]

“Praise be to God that she is dead, 

for he has answered my prayers.”

 

[1_Language_1 1671]

Spoiler

((Mobile doesn't let me format anything, so I'll format this when I get up.))

 

Matthias quietly tapped an empty quill against his desk. He didn't know what to say, he really didn't know what to do now. He was unaware of John's chair-throwing, but would have thought it shameful that he was throwing Ester's furniture. Matt quietly muttered to himself, reading over John's missive again. "Oh.. my friend, saying 'My Ester' makes it appear as if you took her virtue out of wedlock.. She's not your Ester, she's not my Ester, she's the people's.."

 

He dropped the missive onto his desk, and found all drive to design was gone. Curon was home to him, but home was too dangerous for him. If he left Curon, he could be safer, but this was home. Home was worth fighting for.

 

Matthias slowly got up, before putting his palm to his face. "I must stop him from trying to avenge Ester. Not only does he never follow through with these announcements of vengeance, but we don't need to lose the minister to something that will change nothing about what has happened! Vengeance will not raise her from the dead, but if she actually loved you as much as you loved her then she would mourn from the Seven Skies." 

[BardMainHere 310]

12 hours ago, BenevolentManacles said:

His men dragged her body to the gates of Avalain and tossed it to the ground, telling our townspeople that if they stayed in Avalain, they would suffer the same fate. Godric is not noble, or honorable. He is a manipulative creature, and at his core lacking in all principle.

 

“Hm, if you’re going to talk about nobility or honor, maybe you shouldn’t lie about what happened with her body. We brought it for a funeral that hasn’t even been announced yet, by order of Godric.” Augustus Vilac says, chuckling at the audacious lie.