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Obituary of James II


VIROS
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          The ocean of robes in the pallid colors of creams and sharp reds had gradually escaped the confines of the Holy Father Chamber’s, leaving behind only the scent of dust and tobacco. At the foot of the bed where the corpse of the aged James II once lay now sat a somber Beatrice, features overshadowed with grief and relief. As if life itself were an orchestra and she a lute - a chord from her body had been plucked - gone forevermore. A stolen note from her soul, from her grasp. As she sat there resonating about the past she could only reach out nimbly and try to collect all of the flooding memories that crashed into her mind, consuming her entirely, and threatening to devour her entire being until she was no more. Beatrice could only continue and sit there with a pang of guilt as she allowed the envy to escape from the depths of herself, extending outwards from her core as it entangled her in a sheer web, jealous of those with certainty. A certainty that they would be reunited once more with their beloved Holiness as she sat with a boiling uncertainty
and doubt. 

 

         She hated Oren and the Church, despised even. As her nimble hands worked around a ring once worn by her exalted relative the woman sulked into a state of muffled scornfulness, metallic stare averted onto the window at her front as it became clouded by a complexion of murk. As death slowly consumed the late Vicar of Man - she heard muffles and utterances of the next High Pontiff alongside the looks of dismay and corrupt curiosity. Only few radiated genuine love for the man who slowly fell into eternal slumber. As the last confession spewed wheezily from the mouth of James II a newfound relief spilled into the tight room, allowing it space. Yet, in a bold flicker of aureate light and an overwhelming fatherly warmth he was gone. It was difficult to hear her own shrill cry as she hunched over the warm corpse of James, sobbing into whatever comfort remained as it slowly faded, lost in a haze of tears. 
 

Following that wretched night the woman would stand at a window sill in silent prayer, holding onto the memories of adventures and simple encounters fondly. As she lifted her chin to the stars she could only hope to dream - to dream of a future in which she would meet her beloved friend once more. As she turned her gaze and noticed a used candle the girl would take a hold of the match box nearby and ignited one to spur the burnt wick into a timid flame. A tradition she would continue until her final breath. 

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The bittersweet flavor of chocolate covered the roof of the young teen’s mouth as she’d silently eat at the messy treat, boots clad in dirt as she traversed along the roads of Kaedrin, green skirts flourishing in every haste step. Out of boredom the girl had begun to scourge her newfound home, admiring every aspect of it; the stalks of wheat, fertile soil, musing cattle. The vibrant melody of the providence brought herself a certain tranquility and to her it was a dream, something made by the Saint’s themselves she had learned further into her adulthood. Yet, as she approached the old cathedral built from ivory and stone she couldn’t fight the urge to enter, muddied boots stepping foot within to an aisle composed of red carpet. And there stood a pious man of humble stature donned in robes of crimson and white, hair an unyielding color of chocolate akin to the bar she had previously ate. And as the girl had introduced herself and he himself she could not help but smile and say:
“Godric. Goooodric. God-ric. What a silly and fitting name.”
And in return he smiled.

Edited by DahStalker
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As Johan once more entered the chambers of James II a tear would quickly form in his eyes as the large man would look to the floor. "You shall never be forgotten old friend, not only where you the Longest lasting High Pontiff in our history, but I dear say the greatest" he'd sign the Lorraine before bowing kissing James II hand before whispering something to him "Though we might not see one another again in this life. we shall in the Seven skies, give father my good words, I shall watch over your family as if they where my own." after this he'd rise saying a small prayer before once more signing the Lorraine turning to leave the room..

 

Within the peaceful realm of the Seven Skies Saint Harald would stand ready at the gates with his cane and pipe awaiting his old friend. once he finally saw James II enter he'd smile opening his arms "Your aged a bit huh?" he'd say in a joking manor. as they went into the seven skies Harald would finally feel a bit more at peace after hearing all the story's James would have to say

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Vice Chancellor Amadeus, now Regent of the Holy Mother Church, prepares the College of Cardinals without delay whilst intensely mourning the death of his very old friend.

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Hearing the news of the death of High Pontiff James II, Alfred's thoughts wandered.  They wandered into the past, where everything was simpler, better, and more beautiful.  The former warrior had known about the main icon of the Church since his war days were over, and he had known his Holiness even more since he had embarked on church waters.  After reading the official obituary, because he did not want to believe in his death in any other way, his face turned pale.  That news was too much for him, because he knows that High Pontiff was on very good terms with his family.

 " God..Oh God, does the news have to mentally end a man ..? Such unexpected information, that God forgives my sins. His Holiness..was an icon and figure that we, all believers, should have in mind, all his deeds gave us a fine example of how we, as humans should think and act .. What more can I say ..

Father Alfred signs a Hussariyan cross, praying for the late High Pontiff James II.  

" God bless you, Your Holiness .. It was an honor  to know you and share the faith with you. "

Edited by repl1ca
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Tirilan reads the obituary as he sits in his office quietly sipping at a glass of whiskey, his eyes water at the brief acknowledgement of his efforts, determined to make the  9 simple but powerful last words to him mean something 

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Griffith of Gwynon found his peace at last, but it was not in Gwynon. He learned of the news of James II's death from Beatrice Virosi firsthand. He offered a small prayer to Blessed Seraphim to take care of his dear friend. Did the prayer ever find its way to Seraphim? he wondered. How many more friends of his had to die and how many more friends did he have to outlive until he was able to see God at last?

Edited by JoanOfArc
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Brandt Barclay crosses the lorraine as he hears of the holy pontiff James II(k)'s passing "Saint Tylos deliver him" he said simply before dipping his head into prayer

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Goren smiles, and repeats “Requim aeternum donna eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis, luceat eis.” The final refrains of the hymn sung over peaceful body of High Pontiff James II.

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"A sad day for the faith," Laurence kneeled beside James II, holding his now cold hand "We have fought and reconciled, but you were truly a father that I never had to me. From a young boy until now, you have nurtured me to become who I am. Thank you, Your Holiness. May your soul find the rest it finally deserves."

Edited by Draeris
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A Santegian Bishop would sign the Lorriane cross infront of a fine weaven print of Mother Julia within his apartment. "Descansa en paz, the Holiest Pontiffico is in Horen's realm now, Deus bless."

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A single tear stained the brief note and the obituary Corwin had received. A wistful smile played on his lips between earnest prayers for the Pontiff's soul, as the old man set off to light another candle in the endless sea of flames representing countless friends - and once foes - now long gone, awaiting Paradise in eternity. He whispered to the parchment in his wrinkled hand:

 

"A lasting torch in the lasting darkness neither burns out nor loses its bright light."

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Sister Anabel had offered His Holiness her prayers and chaplet prior to his departure. Despite this final encounter, his August and holy presence was indubitably yearned for - by she and the Canonist flock. 
 

“You will be among the best of us,” she told him with confidence, despite her somber disposition, that fateful day - a notion that was, without a doubt, the very picture of reality. 

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As Father Otho rang the bells of the Bassilica of Karosgrad in a sorrowfull tone, he said to himself  "May God rest our Holy Father's soul."

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Subprior Ademar of the Wigbrechtian order signed the Lorraine as he received the news of the passing of the High Pontiff. His head hung low as he uttered a couple words into the air that filled the Cathedral of Providence. "May you find eternal peace in the Seven Skies, and may your successor be as diligent as you have been, Your Holiness." The voice of the aging monastic would be solemn, but carry a certain warmth to it as it echoed throughout the halls.

Edited by Viggen92
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