RaindropsKeepFalling 885 Popular Post Share Posted July 14, 2021 (edited) Spoiler A gaunt Illatian stalked to and fro, his wooden soled boots clicking a steady rhythm atop the smooth pecan wood floors of his temporary lodgings, across the visage of the young man was a look of torment as his once slicked back mousy hair was awry as his alabaster hands pulled at his long locks desperately desiring a haircut. Anton finally came to a halt before a mirror as a whimper of anguish came from his lips as he sank to his knees. The figure he saw before he was not the proper and trim Anton d’Amato-Orlov who held court in the House of Commons, nor was it the bold, carefree bachelor that was the target of the tabloids. Instead, it was a dirty, unkempt, phony widower with a look of horror etched across his sharp features. His dark clothes were cut and torn in a dozen places; across his body were hastily applied bandages that his cousins had held him down to apply. His thin face was stained with the trails of angels where he had wept until his eyes were dry, but it was his hands that shook him the most. His clenched palms, normally pristine and manicured, were stained red, sanguine with the ichor of life, a life that could have been and a life that would never be fulfilled. His hands shook as his pale eyes fell upon a simple wedding band. For a moment, he could close his eyes and picture that scene: the smiling face of his bride as she slipped it onto his digit. But like all things, it came shattering down and raw pain replaced the anguish for a fleeting second as his eyes flashed up to the cracking cry of the glass as his right fist struck it harshly. He stood looking at the cracked mirror seemingly without regard for his bleeding hands before he began to laugh. The laughing rose to a soft, downtrodden cry as the unjust symbolism was not lost on the young man. Just as his own life was a broken shell, so too was this mirror. He pushed himself to his feet, upright, and made his way off, pacing across to the desk in the corner of the room. Even as he had failed his newlywed wife, he would honor her in death and with wavering, shaky hands he began to write... An Open Letter on Family to the d’Azors By Anton Fiore d’Amato-Orlov TO THE D’AZOR FAMILY AND ANYONE IT MAY CONCERN, In days hitherto of Pertinaxi rule, of feudal lords and ladies, of acres of mere farmland, of simpler architecture and simpler lives, some things decidedly do not shift: the family. The home and the hearth we may return to after a day of steadfast battle against any aggressor. It is the brothers, and sisters, and fathers and sons that we wouldn’t anticipate as the denizens to do such harm. ... I believe I should indicate the context of what led to Adeline Lucie d’Azors disappearance and eventual, presumed death, as you have all been influenced by the view that she is the wrongdoer, and you are right. Truth is never so unambiguous as you could hope and pray. Three months ago, I joined an engagement with “Lucie Smith,” an alias of the late Adeline d’Azor. After being shunned, hailed as a “wh**e,” and a “danger,” she had reasonably left your so-called care. As the tabloids would report, we were in fact courting; yet our estrangement amid the masquerade was involuntary. I am aware that you flourish a disdain for me, even despising me. It is not an excuse for the unjust slander of your own, simply expecting everyone to “go on their merry way.” It is not an excuse to disregard a part you may play, finding a scapegoat to uphold your honor. Some would state our relationship as star crossed. The sort of thing poets demonstrate in tableau. I don’t believe it should have been, however it indubitably was. After Adeline fled from Providence with a written farewell, shifting her identity to that of “Lucie.” I provided her a room in Redenford. We weren’t dishonorable, nor did we disgrace anything, or anyone. Soon, we were engaged, and no word was heard from you, the d’Azors, that I was told sought to render me dead. I saw you when you scowled, and when you stared, when you searched for weakness within me to arise with advantage. Why shan’t we be friends? I would have said. Yet, your mind had already been made up; you wanted the commoner six feet under. When that day arrived, and we wed, it wasn’t without a hitch. My own family neither found remorse for Lucie d’Amato, and neither approved. Petty bickering ensued, and such, but I would expect and know that by tomorrow, we’d be reunited. We wouldn’t turn away and sever ties. ‘Till you arrived, all armoured. With five witnesses remaining, you returned to a spot you’d scouted for: the Redenford chapel. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what brutality was occurring, when you flourished your weaponry. It’s particularly taboo: a commoner statesman to marry the very Archchancellor’s noble daughter. We live and pass through an apparently progressive time, and many, as one would expect, protest. I ask the question, why an individual shouldn’t marry the man she loves. Even if she does indeed, why the lives of the groom and bride grow endangered. It is “the way of things,” you’d say. Howbeit, “the way of things,” is a fluctuating phenomenon. For, as long as anyone may recall, men may inherit their titles of peerage, and women may standby. ‘Till this topical Rosemoor Act arrives, which you supposedly support. ‘Till our revered leader is crowned: Empress Anne, as opposed to an Emperor. You spoke to her as an object, as “Adeline.” A mere few would know that name. You ordered me to come forward, and everyone would be left unscathed. I asked, “Why?” You repeated the same thing. We went around and around, heralding the ultimatum when my newlywed wife spoke, “Anton, go, I will hold them.” And so I went, as I knew by an aged maxim of my own family: “La famiglia non combatte la famiglia.” - “Family does not fight family.” I ran for the hills in another direction from Woodes O’Rourke, another attendee. I’d almost applaud: an immaculate crashing of a whipped up wedding. You may well say, “It was not us.” And, I may well ask, “Then, who else would take such care and formidable heed to Lucie Smith’s marriage?” I write this letter herein to put into what I know not how to say. I’ve more words than I know to count, or I know how to express., and more thoughts and ideas to possibly ordain and act from. More importantly, perhaps I write to leave understanding within the written and the permanent, or as permanent as life, or death can be. I write for knowledge. To have a palpable “why,” in the nonsensical reasoning of your odd principals, and to provoke a priviness to some. Many things are left to speculation. However, something I can confidently remark is that the brisk Redenford wedding you formidably crashed is the last I ever saw of my short lived spouse. It is the last the public would witness her face. Similarly, it is the last anyone has seen me. I am tired of this tangle you’ve wound up. I am tired of this ploy, your people. Adeline is absent, and I am a dead man walking. You have killed her, clearly, and why? For what reason would a family slay its own? I am a son, like you, a brother, like you. I have sisters like all of you. I have a father, like you. I swear to God, if He listens, I wouldn’t dare scathe someone on my side. I wouldn’t discard her like a doll if she even deserted me. You stand upright with your devoted integrity. Thereafter, you swivel, and claim I have “ruined” Adeline d’Azor. It is I who allegedly “ruined,” her, when you shunned her initially, and you wound her, with your incessant hatred of a woman, of your kin. I am not flawless, but your action is an atrocious sin. I recognized you, then, and I distinguish you now. Each passing day, files are assigned to the MOJ. Murder: a shameful crime, investigated as a felony. I’ve solved your puzzle, and condemn it as Woodes or any other witness may attest. How may a respected family such as d’Azor make such shame? How may you reassure us of your stalwart pride, still? Adeline was a woman; she lived and existed, then she did no longer. I shall blame you, lest you may offer a rational reply- a just excuse. I wonder why, when it is my life you wanted, you decidedly took hers, undeserved. Did it bring you such fear, Adeline's independence? Her happiness, despite your truancy, as a girl grows into a woman, debuting, and needs your disparaging no longer. She sobbed when you turned her away, I recall. After all, if she was such a burden, I wonder why you fervorously protested against her evanescence. Then again, I am unsure, as I dither. It is not right. Though, I hope this letter reaches you well wherever you all may lodge. I pray in death, veracious honor may flourish it's guilty face. Rather, I don’t mean to create a narrative, nor a villain. I wish for an answer to her passing, and the context brings me suspicion of a culprit. Let us aspire that the dark overcast will soon drift from a cleared sky, and the fog of misunderstanding will clear: a distant tomorrow of impartial truth and morale for my late beloved. We vow to honor her, to love her, to comfort her in sickness and in health, keep thee only unto her… in life and in death, as you should have, alongside any good samaritan. Yours, in pursuit of peace and righteousness, -A.F. Spoiler Big thanks to @DelaneyGand @KaiserJacobIIfor assisting in proofreading. No hard feelings OOCly, have fun with this <3 Edited July 15, 2021 by RaindropsKeepFalling 49 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Melpomenne 1563 Share Posted July 14, 2021 A young woman gripped tight to that public letter, a leg kicking over the other as she sat quietly within her home. "No one listens. ." Whispers the Vimmark-Roussard, head shaking left to right in dissapointment. "'E's really a dead man walkin'." 4 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
scorce1799 34 Share Posted July 14, 2021 (edited) Within the White Walls of Halstaig, Woodes O'Rourke moves along the walls checking on the recently arrived Adunian immigrants that camped within. He stopped before a group of men and passed out cigars "Stay on your toes lads." A older white haired Adunian with a sprawling mustache smirked between cracked yellow teeth as he took the cigar. "Dis langers need tah worrah, for Tiocfaidh ár lá." Woodes nodded clapping the aged Adunian on the shoulder. "Tiocfaidh ár lá." He echoed his gaze look skyward to the heavens. Edited July 14, 2021 by scorce1799 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pyrite 192 Share Posted July 14, 2021 "Ay! I vas' at zat' vedding'. . ." Akello Cenobia had made clear to a tenant of Halstaig that joined him on the fields for the day "And ja', my comment on ze' d'Azors holds true." He bluntly stated as he continued his work with the tenant. 5 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Nectorist 7534 Share Posted July 14, 2021 A certain prince, his big mace having struck down one foe that day already, seeks to make the guilty party the victims of his next bonking. 15 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Setsuko_ 308 Share Posted July 14, 2021 As he worked on one of the ships, Cillian O'Rourke read the missive that was handed to him by one of the ships mates. "Disappointments to their name and their country." he whispered to himself. Folding the missive and stowing it away, he glances back up to the deck. "Oi! Keep tight and heave to, I want 'er ready to make sail within a moment's notice!" he barks out, watching the sailors begin to scurry around the deck. He frowns as he takes his place next to the helm, an uneasy feeling crawling up his back. 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
StrongBear 1191 Share Posted July 14, 2021 "Death ist all around, only a matter 'f time before ve are vithin reach" An old friend simply stated while peering over a few letters that lay across his desk. 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
BogsBinny 125 Share Posted July 14, 2021 A decrepit old Raevir in filthy robes scowls deeply as he reads the missive, twirling his graying beard, the cogs of his mind slowly calculating the most opportune time to return to Providence. 5 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Itz_Cookie 1739 Share Posted July 14, 2021 (edited) Iduna Anne sat within her chambers as a copy of the letter found its way into her grasp. Letting out a shaky sigh as she'd already fell into her own state of lament at the many deaths and disapearances multiplying as the days went by. "The reaper seems to never rest.." The Adunian hissed with furrowed brows. Edited July 14, 2021 by Itz_Cookie 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
DelaneyG 1279 Share Posted July 14, 2021 When Geoff Turgon read this letter, his entire spirit falters. This man that he worked alongside, befriended, rose through the ranks with. This man that he fought and squabbled with. This man that he loves like a brother. Anton was in such pain, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Geoff wished that it ended better the last time they spoke. Quietly, Geoff started preparing notes should he need them - praying that the powers-at-be do the right thing. "Anton, I hope to see you soon." He folded up the letter and tucked it away in his desk. 5 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
zuziee 3252 Share Posted July 14, 2021 Maisie d'Arkent sat by a warm fire as she read this letter - provided by a courtier - as her face contorted and twisted downward. Her mind flashing to the youth she had known, the d'Azor children. Especially the new mother, Diana. Someone who she believed had looked up to her. Did Diana have anything to do with it? Did she influence a murder by simply being a mother figure? Signing the lorraine for the lost Adeline. 3 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
gurlpirate 316 Share Posted July 14, 2021 Jane Rourke-Hartcold cried for the lives ended, for the hearts that were filled with pain and fear. Her own heart ached. She hugged her children close, making sure each one knew she loved them, no matter what. But then, Jane's heart hoped. She hoped her family would be stronger after this. She hoped nothing like this would ever happen again. And finally, she hoped justice would seek out those that had brought so much pain upon her family. She would not fear, she would prepare. For that was the O'Rourke way. 3 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mannyy 934 Share Posted July 14, 2021 “Oh..” Wilhelm remarked from his boat somewhere “At least it is not us this time!” He said with a faint snicker, tossing the paper into the ocean. 4 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Radzig 546 Share Posted July 14, 2021 That Draskovic peered over the missive, a slight frowning. "At least she was an honest girl, that one." He'd begin. "Such I can respect." At that, he'd place the missive on an ornate desk, along with the other papers sprawled about, wet ink drying. Somewhere on the other side of Oren sat a young Raev, pale fingers clasped, and such held at his chin. "Vile." He'd sound, such an utterance coming from his lower jowls with a layer of rasp. "Those who reek of guilt shall face reckoning." 4 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
KaiserJacobII 1048 Share Posted July 14, 2021 Father Francis paces back and forth within the Basilica. His feet gently hitting the floors. He stops and decides to slip into a pew and pray. "The Lord ruleth me, I’ll not want. He makes me down to lie, in pastures green: He leadeth me, the quiet waters by. For though I should walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Thy rod and Thy staff, they hath been a comfort to me." 3 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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