An Apt Legacy; or, Death during a Midlife Crisis

[bickando 3967]

Whitcombe by the Sea, 1804

 

Life in the city had never suited Albert. His youth had been spent in overpopulated, filth-covered Helena, that famed Ruby of the Empire, as his father took up position as the Vice Chancellor of the Empire. It had been spent splicing and hewing wood with his mother in a small workshop on an off-street, making violins that would never see real use. It had been spent tired, poor, anxious and envious - his siblings constantly ill, his father away, his family lacking the land for which its title named and instead forced to spend its small remaining fortunes on making the swamps of Guise inhabitable. They never managed it; the region was to stay a blight upon the otherwise rolling fields of the Empire until their escape from ill-fated Arcas.

 

Questions and the weight of an elder legacy weighed upon Albert from his youth; long years of questions as to the worthiness of the House de Falstaff; long years of worries about heirs, about flea-ridden Guise, about Leuven - but his worries never fell back upon himself, for even as the tools of the luthier lay forgotten in a forgotten closet, he had moulded himself into an instrument for the family. He pulled strings to have the courts declare his capricious father dead; he married the first fair maid that offered herself; he built a family, a home. Whitcombe, a tall house, or perhaps a small manor, atop a rocky bluff by the sea. The now middle-aged man once verged on bankruptcy to complete it; but there was a satisfaction in looking upon the home, and his work as an Imperial Grandee had paid that back in time.

 

He built from ashes a family, a homestead, and a new start; but standing on his small beach, listening to the waves, a strange emptiness filled his heart. He had never loved his wife, but respected her duly - she died entirely unfulfilled, vengeful even; the woman he wanted would never, could never, be his. His familial sicknesses had not been evaded by his youngest daughter; she had become such a liability that she'd been hidden away, much the same as his own monstrous sister. Where had his love of music gone? When had he stopped making violins, set aside the tools of the luthier, and picked up the pen? Why had his family's name meant so much to him?

 

Perhaps now, he could remember these feelings - his first stop Henry's Wharf, where he contracted a modest sloop with which to sail the coast of Almaris, the Hope's Haven. With him was Cod, his ever-loyal butler, and a crew of three strong sailors. He had thought of her for a moment, but dashed those thoughts from his mind; she was much busier than he, after all, and could rarely spare but a moment from her work. He had thought of bringing his children and nephew, but they were beginning to reach the age of majority; they needed to spend the time with their generation in the capital, without finding themselves beholden to the whims of their aging father. Albert's midlife crisis did not need to pull them from their studies, their young fancies, their new duties.

 

On the third of Sun's Smile, 1808, Albert de Falstaff and a motley crew set sail from Henry's Wharf. On the fifth, they harbored briefly at Whitcombe, upon which time Albert rushed ashore to grab what was later reported to be a stack of letters, and on the eighth, a great storm was seen off the coast.

 

On the ninth, the remnants of Hope's Haven, little more than sections of board and tattered sails, began to wash up along the harbour of Eastfleet.

 

[+]

 

The Contents of Albert's Desk, 1808

 

A sealed letter, addressed to Mrs. Petra Vimmark, Director of Civil Affairs, originally to be mailed on the fifteenth.

 

A notarized will entitling his eldest son, Emil-Dardot, to all that he was due, especially his luthiery tools; his younger son, Conrad, to his collection of vints, including those originally gifted by Lucrezia, Albert's grandaunt, Conrad's great-grandaunt; his daughter, Cosette, to his collection of books and stories; and his protégé, Petra Vimmark, to his collection of Dark Elven artefacts and his pet table elf, Marquis La Magie; and nothing at all left to his youngest daughter, Renee.

 

A set of half-finished documents, apparently for a to-be-proposed bill against 'Zannite Terrorists'.

 

Records of Whitcombe's taxes and bookkeeping, perfectly paid ahead of time for the entirety of its history. Pearls were its largest export in 1807, all sold to the Household of the Duke and Duchess of Helena.

 

A set of letters exchanged between George Kovachev, Surveyor-General, and Albert de Falstaff, invariably regarding terrorists and threats to the Empire.

 

A set of letters exchanged between Petra Vimmark, Director of Civil Affairs, and Albert de Falstaff, largely of irrelevant issues such as the lack of reading materials in the capital and how they kept serving lamb in the palace.

 

A half-finished love letter to somebody, though with no names nor identifiable information.

 

A huge stack of letters from his deceased wife, Theodora, usually about how he had vexed her in one way or another.

 

Spoiler

I realized I wasn't having fun on Albert anymore, and that in fact I'd been using him more as a tool and less as a character for a while. Thanks to whoever rp'ed w/ me!

 

also i rolled a 1/20 when deciding where to go on the trip so...

 

@yandeer @Publius @Beamon4 @ncarr

 

[sergisala 3451]

"A Titan of State, and a friend of mine. I shall never forget you, Albert" Sir Edward Galbraith would shrug as he signs the Lorraine "All my friends are perishing. Perhaps that is a divine sign that I should also join them in the Seven Skies soon." He would shake his head "No, not yet. I still have one last thing to do before that."

[DahStalker 3692]

The idle sway of grass came into view as Albert silently passed on into the next life - welcoming him with a soft melody as birds chirp and chimes tenderly click in metallic tune - beckoning him inwards. As the younger Falstaff approach the beautiful ethereal estate from afar he would notice a tuft of curly blonde hair known to be adopted from Rovin traits. "Ah, chubby boy!" A voice hollared from the confines of twisting vines and red grapes, escaping to reveal the middle-aged complexion of the Grand Vintner long passed. "Why don't you put that silly little instrument down for a second and help your Great Auntie with these grapes?" She'd query, lips pivoting into a grin as the woman seem totally as ease upon rising to her feet with a huff, hands clasped onto the brim of a wooden basin, filled to the surface with delicious grapes. "I have a new idea for a vintage, my boy. It is called Albert's Melody." The woman usher out softly with a warm smile, beginning to pivot off toward the estate in an idle lumber. A new room would form itself in this afterlife; a room tool shop with endless violins.

[yandeer 734]

When he came back from the trip, Petra had promised herself that she would finally find time for another picnic in Whitcombe, another fun day of composing music over wine and fine cheeses. Those days in the countryside had been what she waited so long for, her one connection to the joys of her childhood in Roussard. 

 

How many of those who she had loved were now dead? Anna was gone, her dearest friend ripped wholly from her arms before her time. Now Albert, who had brought her happiness when she had none, who had treated her as an individual when she felt entirely an anonymous cog in the grand machine of the Empire. It was all catching up to her, all becoming too much for her to endure. Three children, a husband, employees, superiors- did she truly care for any of them? There were tears streaming down her face then, blotting ink- the last letter he had sent to her now blemished. 

 

There were two things Petra had to mourn on that day: the loss of her dearest companion, and the loss of any hope that she had left.

[ncarr 2806]

      The young de Falstaff receives the news upon her return to Whitcombe. The budding woman now having no one to present her at her debutante which she had canceled at this point. The girl preparing to be a worldly woman of knowledge and kindness is now without a guiding light in her life. Though he had often differed in ideas with her she idolized her father, at a young age she only wished to be just like him in almost every aspect. Albeit she still loved her mother, and wished to grow into a talented tailor just as she did, she had a greater and more complex love for her father. 

 

      She may still have her brothers, but she only sees them as equals, no different from herself. Conrad, Emil, and even Reneé were still here for her, yet she still felt the loss of her father as a great one. She didn't know him as a 'Titan of State' or 'The Count of Leuven' she only knew him as her father, a stubborn man who's set in his ways. 

 

      Though the girl was still, in a weird way, happy for her brother; she had much to think about. The first thing she did upon hearing the news was run to her room and begin sewing on the sewing machine she was left by her mother. Once the girl had finished she had a long black dress with white detailing, soaked in tears.

 

[ARCHITECUS 4788]

The Last Anomalocaris feasts on Albert's sunken remains. Another step towards ultimate revenge against the Falstaff dynasty.

 

[kuerbis 3802]

"OH..." Elisabeth frowned largely. "May you rest well, friend."