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Sinking: Sunk

 

 

 


 

A tired Petyr Baruch lounged at his desk chair within his chambers, eyes bloodshot and half shut. He didn’t understand his family’s sudden betrayal, with the majority of his children siding with his unfaithful wife over him, and his own father forcing him to abdicate on false claims of insanity. He certainly didn’t feel insane, it was his family who were overlooking reality! As he sat, he reminisced over memories, memories of a time when he truly loved his wife:

 

The first memory he went to was one of his best; the birth of his first child. He walked into the feast hall, exhausted from a long day’s work in Reza. However, upon seeing Sofiya — and her notable lack of a baby bump — he immediately jumped up “Ah missed it?” He’d cry out with anguish, approaching his wife and swaddled baby with great haste. “Are ‘ey ‘ealthy?” He asked as he peered over her arms, gazing unto his newborn babe. “Da, he is. Would you like to hold him?” Sofiya suggested, a smile growing on his face as the gender of his child was revealed “He” He’d repeat, receiving the child in his arms. He’d speak in an excited whisper, as to not frighten his new son “Look a’ ‘im! Eja little Petyr'' He dubbed the child after himself.

 

A faint smile spread across his lips as he recalled the day, surely there had never been a more joyous occasion in his entire life. But that smile soon faded, as he recalled the outright disobedience and spiteful attitude of who that babe grew to be. Never had he seen a child so dedicated to acting out against every word he said, so dedicated to sending him to an early stress-induced grave. Perhaps it wasn’t his best memory after all. Maybe it was actually a good thing he wasn’t there for the birth of such an unruly and ungrateful child. Instead, he moved on to the next memory, hoping to clear his mind.

 

However his mind was led astray, not to a good memory, but another bad. “That is cruel of you… To try and turn my own children against me!” Sofiya screamed at him in the feast hall of Valstadt Castle. All he remembered was a feeling of indignant confusion. He hadn’t turned the kids against her. Perhaps to blame was her frequent carousing with so-called business partners Vorloin Sturmholm and John Pruvia. He saw the way they looked at her… With lust and hedonistic intent. And how was she to explain her current pregnancy? He didn’t remember anything ever being conceived, no, not by him. And yet every day she returned to Valwyck, pretending to be the ideal wife. Perhaps she thought he was stupid? “Ye did tha’ yerself! Ye don’ ge’ to abandon yer family and ‘en try to weasel yerself back into it!” He clutched his bottle of Carrion as tightly as he could in anger “Why are you so desperately trying to take away the one thing that brings me joy in life?” She spoke of their children, the ones she brainwashed against him, with the help of his eldest, Little Petyr. All he had done was try to enlighten them to the truth, telling them that their Mamej no longer had time to be with them, that she chose a new family over their own. That much — he was sure — was true. Though as he stood in thought, Sofiya violently and brazenly lunged towards him, planting the palms of her hands on his shoulders in a savage shove. He had to protect himself, who could tell for sure how far she intended to go with this attack? So he instinctively brought the bottle he clutched up to her head, knocking her onto the ground with it.

 

Petyr grunted at his desk, jolting to his senses as the unpleasant thoughts flooded his mind. His relationship was fine until Little Petyr came along. The boy had corrupted his wife, turned her violent and rebellious. “Where did ah go wrong?” He pondered alone in his room. How could he have let his own child turn his wife against him, who in turn poisoned the rest of his kin with venomous rhetoric and accusations. Finally he forced himself to reminisce of a time before Little Petyr’s birth, when things were good:

 

Naturally his thoughts drifted to his marriage counseling under the guidance of Bishop Benedict. He, Sofiya and the Bishop stood on the bank of the water outside Valstadt, the Bishop chanting “Spirit of the water, help us! Mother moon, help us! Children stars, guide us!” Followed by the dumping of holy water on their heads, cleansing them of their sins. This act had become an inside joke between him and his new bride. They both found the amount of water employed by the Bishop to be a bit exaggerated, suffering the same at their wedding, darkening and weighing down their clothes for the rest of the evening both times. They had been considering having a baby ever since their wedding night, but decided it would be best to wait until they were more bonded. They both respected each other and the boundaries they had set.

 

Once more a faint smile appeared on his face as he sat at his desk. A tear of grief ran down his face, for the Sofiya in that memory was long dead. Little Petyr had killed her. He needed to avenge her. However, his reminiscing was soon cut short as he heard the screams of Isabel below. It was as if the stars had aligned, for when he ran down to see what had happened, a frantic Isabel announced that Sofiya was in fact dead literally as much as she was in his mind metaphorically; facedown in the water outside.

 

He sat Isabel in the feast hall as he went out to investigate. Standing at the railing of the bluffs, he saw Sofiya’s body was battered. It seemed she had jumped from a high distance, her body crushed on impact and subsequently slapped against the cliffside repeatedly. He concluded she had probably jumped from the tower. “She always was weak, wasn’ she?” He asked spitefully, though deep inside he knew he only referred to the shell of Sofiya that he grew to hate after Little Petyr’s incessant poisoning. The Sofiya he knew before was strong, and would never have committed such an unholy act on herself.

 

Nonetheless, Petyr quickly ordered the body to be retrieved from the water and buried near the memorial for their missing son Matyas. “Regardless, ah know who drove ‘er to ‘is fate” He’d declare to himself in his continuing internal monologue. He’d pat the pommel of his blade as it hung on his hip, turning to return inside Valstadt Castle, where the new Duke — Petyr II — resided. The time for vengeance was now. After all, he had nothing left to lose, his wife, titles and job having been torn from him.

 

Upon entry to the castle, he passed by his frantic family and went straight up to his chambers. To his luck, he had never relinquished the set of armour he wore during his tenure as Lord Palatine, the transition of power had been too crazed, too chaotic. Slowly and meticulously, he strapped on the different pieces of the armour, and before soon he stood as a hunk of iron and leather plates. Affixing his scabbard to his belt, he began back towards the feast hall, where his family now mourned.

 

“Why did she ‘ave to go?” A sniffling Little Petyr wept, embracing his sister Rozalina. Isabel still sat where he had left her; across the table from her siblings. Petyr crept around the corner of the stairwell, slowly pulling a combat knife from his side and holding it behind his back as he entered the feast hall. Luckily, the children sat facing the exit, and — although they may have heard him enter — could not see that he was dressed for war. 

 

“Ah don’ know” Roza would try to console her brother, though it was clear she was just as shaken. Regardless, Petyr crept up behind his son — knife in hand — “It was ‘er time to go, son.” He prodded, feigning a tone of concern. With this, he’d raise his knife, hoping to strike his son when he turned around to look at him — he wanted Little Petyr to see himself be stabbed.

 

Though Petyr’s plan quickly unrailed, for it was Rozalina who turned first! “Look ou’!” The young girl quickly sprung into action, instinctively swatting the knife away from a surprised Big Petyr, the blade freeing itself from his grasp and bouncing across the tabletop. By now, Little Petyr had also turned, wide-eyed and surprised by the attack.

 

Petyr fumbled to reach for the sword at his side — but alas — he was much too close to Roza and Little Petyr to maneuver it out. Meanwhile, Little Petyr produced his own dagger, one that Sofiya had gifted him before she died. Petyr; now in a mild panic, drew back his fist to punch his son and disarm him, but his attempt was fruitless. 

 

By the time Petyr reeled back his fist in preparation to strike, Little Petyr did so first, his dagger plunging deep into a crook in his Father’s breastplate near his shoulder, a deep red stream leaking from it. “AGH!” The man stepped back, the dagger yanked from his arm in the process, though it remained in Little Petyr’s grasp “Papej!” Isabel jumped from her bench, watching in horror at the conflict.

 

Little Petyr briefly glanced to Isabel, and then to his bloodied dagger, standing frozen like a frightened animal. “Ye stabbed me!” Petyr snarled, lunging at his son one last time, who instinctively raised his dagger up to point at his Father, covering his eyes with his freehand. “STOP IT!” Isabel screamed, tears streaming down her face.

 

Unfortunately for Isabel, a rough sound of tearing pursued. Her Father had run into the outward dagger, impaling it through his neck. Horrid gurgling sounds came next, and sounds of a brief struggle, before the man collapsed, hitting the table first and then the floor as he grasped at his neck.

 

Little Petyr and Rozalina watched with mixed and unsure expressions, for ahead of them lay the man who had raised them, and yet brought them so much pain, both mental and physical. For a few more moments he struggled and writhed on the floor, blood sputtering from his impaled neck. 

 

Petyr looked up at his son, his eyes screamed for help, but he knew none would come. His strength had already left him, his hands clawed at his neck, but to no avail, the dagger was lodged. His vision slowly blurred, and the sounds of his own struggle were overtaken by a droning ringing in his ears. Soon all he could see were the silhouettes of two of his relieved children, and all he could hear was ringing and his own gasping for air.

 

Momentarily, the gasping stopped, and he could see nothing. In his last moment — as his consciousness left him — he thought of only one thing: Sofiya.

 

REQUIESCAT IN PACE

Petyr Siegmund var Sigmar Baruch

1737-1777

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Posted (edited)

As Juliya heard from the Mad Dukes a smile would form on her face. “Godan brought justice once more!” she’d exclaim as a wave of relief would flood her body, finally being able to sleep knowing justice had come for the Wife Murderer. Nie Sparveed, Nie Peace”

She would walk into the Gant Apartments and changed her mourning attire into her usual gowns, as a sign of celebration.

 

 

”I outlived him and I will outlive all of them!” An elderly Ingrid Baruch would say, as she prepared for her 100th birthday.

 

Edited by sirenscall_

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Posted (edited)

Emerich Gant roars with anger hearing the news of the assassination, the kinslaying committed by his nephew. Petyr ‘The Great’ dead... “He’ll pay for this, all those little brats will.” Emerich grabs his sword and begins his hunt.

 

Sigmar Baruch was struck with grief. not sure what to make of the situation, his monstrous son killed by his grandson who defended himself. “They said ‘e was a monster...so many things Ah ne’er got to say to ‘em...” Sigmar locked himself in his tower for many days.

Edited by Drew2_dude

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Posted (edited)

“They die too soon..” Terry May shakes his head as he learns of Petyr’s death before yelling at his caretaker to replace the spokes on his wheelchair. 

“All are welcome... Mother Moon is here now..” Bishop Benny says sadly as he learns of his friend’s death.

Edited by Piov

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Posted (edited)

Adelaide Myrrh fiddled with her thumbs as her feet brushed against the pale sandy shores of Valwyck. She let out a tired sigh of relief, a small smile creeping on her face, unseen by the black veil that shielded her mouth. “Godan is good, Godan serves justice,” she muttered under her breath. She wasn’t here for Petyr although his death had set Sofiya’s children free it left them parent-less too. She approached young Lady Isabel who sat on the shore watching the waves. “Are you ready?” She asked the girl. Lady Isabel only shook her head. Adelaide set out a small canoe, not very grand but it was all that she could afford. On it laid hundreds of soft lilac peonies. She lit a small torch and passed it to Isabel and nodded. The small wooden boat floated away into the salty sea as the smell of burnt flowers rose into the air. Adelaide couldn’t swallow the welp that stuck in her throat. She sighed again letting her shoulders relax, it was done. The ink in Sofiya’s story dried and the new chapters of Isabel’s were wet with what’s to come. “Godan is good,” she only said again as she headed back home to mourn the loss of one of the greatest women of her time.

Edited by ErosTea

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“Think the right thing to do is have an investigation and a trial.” Stefan Vyronov said remembering Sir Sigmar Baruch’s outburst in the last duma session.

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Flakes of white snow danced outside the windows as the faint crackling of a fireplace emanated from the old feasting hall of Valstadt Castle. “Now you must knead the dough, my dear.” Sofiya Baruch said to the short-auburn haired boy next to her, raising her hands to demonstrate to her son, Matyas Aleksandr, as they prepared the bread for baking. Sofiya had taken up this hobby since her ascent to the Seven Skies, the simple act of bread baking reminded her of one of the many bonding activities Bishop Benedict instructed her and Petyr to do as newlyweds. The tapping of boots trudging up the path towards the feast hall caught her attention and her eyes spotted a glimpse of the familiar striped beret entering the hall. An expression of shock had taken over her as she wrapped her arms delicately around her young son’s back, “Papej’s home.” The young boy rushed forward, barreling towards his father to engulf him in an embrace as Sofiya remained at the table frozen in disbelief that Petyr had joined her so soon after she had left. The man that had previously been overtaken by madness was no more, for the husband she loved had returned at last. “Petyr,” She’d gasp, extending her arm out to beckon him to her, “it has been far too long since I have truly seen you.”

 


 

Isabel Baruch remained hidden in her room inside the Ekaterinburg Palace with her father’s signature beret held tightly in her grasp. Tears coursed down the young Baruch girl’s cheeks, within the past year she had lost both her mother and her father leaving her orphaned and lost without the guidance of her parents. Guilt had overwhelmed her, believing she was the cause of her parents premature deaths. Her father insisted her mother never loved her and despised her living presence, she wondered if she had not been born would her sibling’s lives not have been tainted with sorrow and abandonment. “Ah’m sorry...” she muttered, dragging a gloved hand across her face to wipe away her tears as she went to her desk to bury herself in her studies to distract herself from her overwhelming thoughts.


 

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Mr Rat hums a little tune as he cleans up  the blood stains in the keep, having been employed by the family for some time and having witnessed some of the abuse Petyr had put his wife and children through. He was very pleased that such a vile man had finally been put down though he does lament that it wasnt in a more painful fashion.

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Angelika Bykov drew in a sharp breath upon hearing the news. ”He was a horrible man, but nobody deserves death...and certainly not by one’s own child...” She shook her head in disbelief and stared off into the distance. ”Surely this should be investigated. I shall report the case to the authorities. As for the poor children...I shall ensure they are safe,” she concluded with a firm nod.

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Posted (edited)

Stefan Ludovar Slams his fist into the wall chipping at the brick. “HOW DARE HE GO OUT LIKE THAT, IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE LORD REGENT’s LAZYINESS I WOULD HAVE KILLED HIM IN A DUEL”  he’d scream in his study, He would throw papers, pens well everything off his the desk in pure rage “THAT DISHONORABLE, DISGUSTING PIG OF A DUKE..” Stefans words would become a jabber of Wrath and hatred for the late Baruch. After mintues of savage anger, the war warn nobleman would grab his flask of Carrion Black taking a swig of it” That Bastard was killed by his own Son, I’m glad atleast someone else knows how Deranged that man was.” he’d pant placing his flask down” I’ll see you in the Void Petyr Baruch, I will see you there....”

 

@CaptainHaense

 

Edited by GhostSHTR

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A nearly elderly maid of Valwyck prepares a picnic within the kitchen, filling her wicker basket with the goodies she knew the Baruch children liked -- cookies, small sandwiches, various juices, and a large blanket that she had hand-knit for this occasion.

 

"A wretched person, truly. But he was still their Papej, and they will no doubt grieve in their different ways." The aging woman said to another maid, "My heart breaks for those poor children." 

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Little Petyr offered no tears in response to his fathers death, unlike the passing of his mother. He never saw this man as a true father figure, he enjoyed the torment he brought upon his children far too much. What kind of man could bring about such a miserable life for their children?

 

He began to wipe down the blade used against his father.

 

The young Duke thought back on an awful memory of his father, one of many. The boy had hidden a cookie from his father, being given it by a friend, though he knew this would test his fathers temper, so he concealed it to the best of his ability. Nevertheless the elder Petyr discovered the boy had eventually eaten the treat behind his back, beckoning him up to the dais after learning such. Little Petyr obeyed and neared his father, only for Big Petyr to then shove his hand down the boys throat, forcing him to vomit out most of the contents of his stomach, including said cookie.

 

He frowned, wiping harder at the blood that stained the dagger he had been gifted by his mother.

 

He thought back once more to yet another incident involving his father. The young Baruch’s sister, Kamila, had been punished wrongly by Big Petyr, and was placed in the wretched “timeout room”. He confronted his father, begging for forgiveness on behalf of his sister. He was suddenly met with a strike to his face, which offered an audible ‘thwack’. Little Petyr stumbled back at the hit, up against the wall, soon after being pinned there by his father. He did his best to remain silent from then on, if he could.

 

He wiped the blade clean. 

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Roza stared at the corpse of their father in disbelief. Mixed emotions filled her gaze as she was not sure how to react. Oh how blind the little girl had been in the earlier days of her youth to how much of  monster her father was. Yet she had still loved him, she still did love him. But at the same time she was relieved. No more beatings, no more shouting, no more lies except those she herself chose to utter. "I will be okay, I have to be okay. For Isabel..." She mumbled to herself before she wandered to her room and shut the door.

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