The Passing of an Old Man [PK]

[Mr_Muffles 21]

Haarald Reedwater  1702-1785

Master Sergeant, Combat Academy Commandant, Second Brigade, Imperial State Army, 44 Years of Service

Twelfth of Snow’s Maiden

An old man sits at a table in the Helena Bastille, thinking of his life. He has been thinking of writing his memoirs, over the past few years-but such things were not for commoners with such little interest in literature. However, that didn’t stop the man from occasionally reviewing his life, as he was now. He thought of himself as a young boy, wandering around the lands of what would soon no longer be called Renatus, through the streets of a Helena that no longer existed, over the fields of an empire that had so greatly changed. He remembered worked, laboring hard at the ruins at the command of a freshly minted aristocrat. Remembered joining the banner men of Adrian Sarkozic, Barron of Renzfeld-how he had looked up to the man, and his titles. How he followed him, from Baron, to Duke, to, for a short while through events no one, and certainly not the lowly soldier, had understood Emperor, then back to Duke of Adria. How he stood in battle lines, fighting his trainers-fighting the Lorrainyerds-fighting monsters in the woods in events he never reminisced on to anyone, so terrified he was of their memory. And he remembered the day that man was proclaimed Lord Protector of the Holy Orenian Empire, and he became one of the first men in the Imperial State Army, one of the only men with a service longer than the service had existed. He had fought rebels, terrorists, and invaders. He had, in the in-between time when the ISA was responsible for not just army-work but also the much detested police work. He had stood on the walls of New Reza, and watched in awe as the foe’s siege engines shattered the towers and men who manned them. He had loosed arrows and unsheathed his sword in anger more times than he could remember. He had, in time, attained the rank of Sergeant, and had become an instructor of the new recruits that flooded the Imperial State Army. But, now, that was coming behind him. The Empire needed younger men. His eighty-three winters were too many to allow him to fight or lead, and soon he would not even be able to run drills. 

 

The old man sighed, and drained his cup. “To Peter the Third. GOD bless him, and GOD bless his soul. Ave Oren.”

He then stood. As he rose, however, a quiver took him, and he stooped over the table holding himself up with his hands. He held there for a moment, shaking his head as if to clear it, then stood up to his full height. He took a deep breath, to reassure himself of his health. He nodded, satisfied.

 

He then pitched forward face-first onto the table.

 

The troops were out, parading and drilling for the late Emperor’s funeral. Such calisthenics were not for men as old as he though, so he stayed behind-and was alone. By the time anyone found him, the cardiac arrest had taken him fully, and he was well and truly dead.

 

So passed Haarald Reedwater, soldier, monarchist, patriot.

[Mescaffier 6197]

Spoiler

Song’s hardly related to the emote, but enjoy   :    )

 

Lieutenant Viktoriya DeNurem – ‘The Allslayer’ – stirred within her prison, a harsh cough escaping from her bloodied maws. The daemonic carving upon her back had healed over – a sliver of her strength returning, yet, the woman was far, far from ever returning to her prior state. The blight of madness had claimed her, her mind a winding labyrinth caught ablaze: crumbling with each terrible moment she remained bound to the Inferni soil. Every hour, she’d be forced to watch her comrades – human, mali, orc – plummet into the pool of blood & gore below . . . Some odd sort of ritual the Daemons were in the process of putting into fruition. Each day, fed the limbs & flesh of her fellow soldiers. 

 

She recalled each & every ISA – their prideful gait, their untainted souls burning with determination for their state – with a twinge of jealousy. For some . . .  Odd reason, her mind seemed to linger upon the thought of the Sergeant.

 

”A . . . Resolute anh’ unswervin’ fellow, he is . . . Was? Old man, Reedwater is, ha,” the Leftenant croaked, toward no one in particular. She’d suddenly fall into a reverent silence – thinking over her words with a blank expression. ”Ah . . . Who knows. Maybeh t’ey’re all dead, out t’ere. Hmmm, Bert?” she’d inquire – peering over toward the corner of her cell, where a rat sat. 

[Aplex 115]

Aplex Cenobia frowned upon hearing the news of one of his oldest comrades passing on to the seven skies. ”You were a good man Haarald, a better man than I could ever be. May you find peace in the skies.” He’d dip his head in silence for a moment before looking back off the coast of Kaedrin, wondering when it would be his turn to follow his comrades footsteps into the after life.

[Mirtok 2853]

Alren had just returned from the Southern deployment camp near the Korvassan front, a long day of planning construction projects behind him. As he rounded the corner into the Bastille, past the iron gate and through the mighty hard oak doors, he noticed a sleeping figure at one of the tables in the Great Hall. The slowly aging General chuckled to himself, recognizing the grizzled form of his old mentor and long time comrade. He stepped over to gently jostle him awake but recoiled his hand upon the sensation of cold flesh. The battle hardened DeNurem let slip a frown accompanied with a deep breath teeming with a certain sadness.

 

“You helped mold me into the man I am today, a true stalwart soldier of the Empire, through and through. Godspeed comrade, may your warrior spirit continue to guide all those that follow in your footsteps.”

[SerFinnick 445]

Philip signs the Lorraine, going to the cupboard and pulling out a bottle of whiskey, pouring one out for himself, downing it quickly before heading out to his balcony and looking up to the sky, offering the Master Sergeant one last salute. 

[ErikAzog 3575]

Peter Baldwin d’Arkent remembered the veteran soldiers fondly, he was a prime example of what an Enlisted should be. A figure that will remain legendary one of the first Master Sergeants of the Imperial State Army. “I remember when I first enlisted in the ISA, you were one of the first and foremost prominent figures back then Haarald. I pray that you rest in peace in the seven skies, resting well on the accomplishments that you achieved here in the ISA.”

 

[BenevolentManacles 2232]

The Lieutenant takes an extra hour of prayer that evening for the fallen patriot. He signs the cross, likening the fallen Haraald’s dedication to the Empire akin to Captain Martin’s. 

 

“Rest well, brother-in-arms.”

[Paulobig 133]

Sir Alaric DeNurem received the missive as he wandered about the Capital, a light frown gathering upon his visage – The Captain’s right arm lifted to sign the Lorraine.

”I recall the day I enlisted, Haarald was there to meet me. A shame I could not bear arms with him.”