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The Death of Ludwig


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Ludwig van Wick

Circa 1789, painted by a Wick courtier.


 

Lost in obscurity, was a man of elder stature. Present daily was he within the Haeseni Royal Army, in the days of yore when the high walls of Markev once stood tall and proud against a Renatian threat. Raised and nurtured by two Wicks did the man come to enjoy a passion of reading books and partaking in scholarly discourse. This love soon became an infatuation, as he explored the arcane within the army he served, a dream was made to find all the knowledge present within the plane- a jovial, young man he was. Days and weeks labored as to further his understanding of the material and the immaterium, scouring tomes of old and adventuring to long lost ruins. Soon those lighthearted aspirations became the hinge upon which he based his life upon, rumors of the young wizard partaking in foul sorceries was commonplace within the dwindling city of Markev just before it was ransacked and hushed by a sweeping plague.

 

As the ages passed the man known as Ludwig became only more terrible in his age, murdering would-be witches in the streets without trial, or branding men for supposed demonic worship and the like. His final great act was striking down the great drake Avendal, before retiring in the running of the Haeseni Magick Department. Tending to the library within Reza, each day seemed to take its toll upon the ghastly figure. Often he did spout praise of his own titles, 'Slayer of Agony,' 'Lord of the Tides', his mind was maddened by the very acts he once appraised. It was after this that the greying Wick seemed to phase in and out of the land, leaving for decades at a time before suddenly reappearing within the many red cities that were constructed throughout the Kingdom's years. This occurred repeatedly, until he was finally cast out of the Highlander realm by Koeng Joseph I for the crime of treason when he spoke in favor of a young Stafyr.

 

Rightfully so, was his death silent, a whimper upon which the mountain of a man despised so. For how twisted and decrepit he was, no amount of sorcery could save his damned soul, nor bring about the revenge he so did relish. Just like that a supposed man of ages past fell to the sands of time with not a roar, nor a shout, but a quiet whisper. He left no letters, no will, nothing in his wake but the decayed corpse which sat high atop a rural mountain, festering with rot.

 

Ludwig 'the Mad' was finally dead.

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Juniper Wick sat in a small room, the dim light of a low burning lantern casting ugly shadows across her face. She stared with her milk-white eyes at the wall, a scowl painted across her face. One hand gripped the arm of her chair, the other turning a silver ring over and over in her fingers. She sat there all night, awake and silent, contemplating. Many a thought passed through her mind that night, but one rang louder than the rest, repeating every so often.

...It's nearly time...


 

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Somewhere in the wastelands of hell, a lone elf raised a glass to the man who he considered his own father. "Join me old man - your time has come to an end but the party is not over yet."

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Astley Wick shimmies melancholically in an alleyway, knowing that despite his countless promises, he had let Ludwig down, given up on and deserted his family name.

 

Deep down, the estranged Wick was glad he hadn’t had to formally say goodbye, knowing the tears he would’ve caused.

 

Spoiler

 

 

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37 minutes ago, Security_ said:

Ludwig the Mad was finally dead.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6GK8HhjQQE

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

FLICKER and desist, did those candlewicks which occupied one positively bohemian lord's chamber –– the taper of lambent wicks casting some vestiges of radiance unto the draperies which girded its walls fourfold in scattered, contingent bouts; furbishing the impregnable dim and dark which dwelled and festered some, 'ere purging and undoing itself the following, nascent moment. Vladislav Ostrobor, the Lord of Roussard, surveyed the posthumous missive, the spirit of sorrow nigh waxed in his dual iris'; juxtaposing their vivid cerulean, however waning came the instance of anguish, the very futile likeness of a forlorn frown displacing 'gainst an upturned maw, vanquishing what pompous smirk bade its claim previously.

 

Happrehended thereafter, the nuance of grave scrutiny discernible in either eye, forfeited in the glossing of film eyelids o'er them; a momentary blink betoken of his apt consideration, 'fore drawing his digits some measures rereward. Stiffening thusly, fivefold digits encircled the truss of a candelabrum, the man having animated himself no longer:

 

"Be tranquil, in your sleep. May God be charitable to you in the next life, cousin."

 

AND thus, having wielded plumes of cool wind of his parted lips, the wicks tapered no longer; incandescent, as the veil of dusk usurped the bedchamber –– castrating its view of mortal sight.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

Spoiler

One last Hephaestuspost.

 

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A terrible, silenced evil writhes in Ebrietaes as a long lost ally joins it to wallow.

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a burnt and scared figure would be seated in a tavern somewhere in Almaris, a cloak hiding most of his body as he'd tap his fingers to the woods of the table where he sat. a full glass of Carrion standing in front of him as he resided a letter of Ludwig's passing from one of his children. "There comes a time where we shall all perish into the depths of the void, but who would wish to go to the seven skies when all the fun people can be found in the depths below.."  the slightly aging wick would state to himself, his eyes locked to the glass of carrion. an anger filling him as he'd raise taking a hold of the glass throwing it to the walls before leaving the town..

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Corbin takes in a deep breath as he feels a morbid and sour bite take to the air. The quiet and solemn Wick feeling a choke in his breath as he sits at his writing desk, his stare from page to wall as his skin crawls. The magus may not know it yet, but he has lost his longest mentor and greatest friend this day. So for now he will shake this feeling and return his quill to papyrus, his ink pulling a deep crimson note as this long night ventures on.  
 

____________________________________________________________________
 

 

Spoiler

 

 

Edited by gavyn
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The aging princess sat in her chair, contemplating what she should've said different to him. however nothing came to mind, the man was as cold as the frozen tundra. Nataliya began to drum her fingers against the wooden desk, staring idly at the crimson table cover.


"You harlot!" the elderly man barked towards the young woman's direction. it appeared Nataliya had gotten into another quarrel with the aging man, both had the temper of a bull. both wicks had continued to spew hateful insults towards each other. "you're as crazy as they come! no wondered why you were disowned!" he said with a cackle, a sly and devilish grin grew on the mans gruesome visage. The Wick knew he had struck a weak point, the haeseni woman had no idea how to retaliate. though her husband did, lundging and wailing onto the the elder Wick with pure anger, soon then after, taking out Ludwig's eye.

 

Nataliya huffed at the memory, such a horrible night, the Wick's were pure chaos. Well, not all of them but one in particular. Ludwig.

 

A tiny little princess could be seen scurrying down the library steps, there, stood Ludwig and her father, conversing to one another. after a few moments the King picked up his young daughter, carrying her up the steps. "who is he papej?" the young child inquired curiously "A man whom should not be messed with my little nataliya." 

 

"a dangerous man Indeed. . . . . is this truly the end of him?"

 

 

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Coltaine, though he didnt go by that name these days, feels a small part of him die when he learns of Ludwig's death. Recalling the young man he and Selrik had taken in and cared for, the last familial link to a long gone age, gone. There was truly no one left within the family that was Wick that he cared for now.

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Persephone "Eileen" Heddwyn, the Banshee Queen in the North, would stand on the balcony and rest her greyscale digits atop the railing which was blanketed in a high layer of snow. The falling flakes would flutter about her form as her glowing blue eyes would illuminate her figure, which nearly disappeared in the unforgiving blizzard. The witch raised her gaze to the night sky and brought her well pampered right hand to her heart. "We weren't exactly the fondest of friends, Wick, but I'd be lying if I said that our encounter in my swamp, Blackwater , didn't have me a bit nervous. Even though it was your master that took mine from me, I always thought of you as a friend ghost."

 

The witch closed her eyes and turned to make her way back inside the ruins of the abandoned keep, and slowly decended the creeking staircase. A final thought crossed her mind and she'd optimistically chime. "Well, people like us don't usually stay gone for too long... Hopefully, we'll cross paths somewhere less humid this time around.

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