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[PK] NO BONES FOR BARROWS


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“There is.” Antonius chimed aloud in an eager concurrence upon reading the short letter.

 

He almost hadn’t noticed the key that came accompanied with the message, tucked taut into the corner of the envelope, but it was well within his possession now. 

 

It wasn’t a far walk to that agreed upon locale, so the man made it before nightfall. His instinct was to pound upon the door with a closed fist’s side- revelation struck now that he was granted the means of passage. 

 

You’ve one hundred kids, and not one to greet me?

 

Not that he would recognize them, anyways.

 

Not even the help..

 

A meager shrug, unhurried steps then.

 

And he waited. Where the man had instructed.

 

Patiently, first. But as patience wore thin, the curiosity festered. And after curiosity satiated; a perturbedness to disguise worry. 

 

But he waited still.

 

“Unlike you to tardiness, Viktor.”

 

Spoiler

Damn it, man.

So many unfinished projects, unfulfilled wishes. 
 

But that’s alright. Everyone wants a heroic death, and at least Viktor got one, subjectively.

 

Godspeed, this certainly isn’t the last we’ll see of each other.

 

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A woman stood idly outside some manor's door, a closed fist hovering just before it.

 

[reserved]

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While Josef started his day normally - waking up with a hope that he has only dreamt the attack on his person and the removal of his arm, unfortunately hope would prove useless once again. While staring at his ISA Uniform the young Ruthern suddenly decided to pen his uncle a letter and with Viktors last letter at his desk he would begin to write. 

 

Spoiler

Dear Viktor,

I must first and foremost apologise for not having given you an answer to your latest letter, for I have been quite busy writing to a rather special woman - though must I reveal her name not in this letter but in person as I am sure you would like to hear her name. 

Regardless I do owe you an apology for not having answered to your kind words . . . and in consequence to your help, for I must be honest with you, there was a time I have given up hope and I felt useless - I believe I have even bothered my dear Tutor with this feeling however can I not express my grattitude for your help. You have given me hope again my dear Uncle for that one day I can be . . . normal again. I know that I seem odd now, I can hear the whispers of my comrades . . . I can remember a time clearly when I could use both of my arms, when I was just like the other children . . . a simpler time, I must confess. 

But even if we cannot find a new arm - if I am doomed to forever life a live as . . . this thing, I will always remain grateful for your help Uncle for even the flames of hope ignited in my heart have kept me from thinking about a darker path and I believe that in the broader sense it has saved my life. 

I hope to one day repay you back for your help and I hope as well that you can meet my tutor and maybe have a conversation - I must confess she is the one who has taught me how to write letters and even books professionally. 

Now that we have reached the end of the letter I pray to Godan that one day you may teach me some of your Knowledge, if you would wish to do so. There is no greater thing than knowledge passed on by Family Members and there is nothing a heart would treasure more.

Thank you Uncle,
Josef.


 

 

Once the Letter was penned, Josef would lay the parchment before Viktors door, once he was finished he would return back to his Room to put on his ISA Uniform and continue his day - hoping that his Uncle would see his letter and smile. 

Everyday he woke up from sleep his mind would bear a similar thought hoping that his letter has been at least seen and everyday he would walk to Viktors Room and remain there for a few moments - even as the days turned to months.

Edited by Josef_Rippelberg
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eKAaliVqCivN1ZMAN37fPm4nZ-8zJJHhPZRP8wbw4uS7Lt0wkvNelpNyLu5WX1V1RGlC-Ei7500aauYSvT0JxZyxBvij608FGHd3BSEEHvgclZEn0qBfR23-6-mXOZFqwxCMCE-f=s0


 

AN IMPETUOUS VISIT

____________________________

 

vSYy2Wu0crmvCzMgrbLROm0ZS5Epp5HgksRUL4-X9X5pscQdrfciU4kkgdFjBHOh-U9uuvZdZVUSvXP_atmTBEq3zN1iBfPQsRvyGmMTEmwzXp_hxHaVFP9VcXpo6HWKo6ypvd0C=s0

A likeness of Viktor var Ruthern by the Madame Clementine. [Art by me!]

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A palm grasped at her back, pushing at her before ushering her away to the side. A bemused look set across the young Kaphro’s face, terror glinting in her eyes. The stranger spoke, “Apologies, lady - I am in dire need of help and you were the first of the female specimen I noted.”

 

Her brows pinched at his words. Perplexed, the young maiden’s stutters rolled out, “W-What do you need...need assistance with?”

 

“What is your name?” He inquired, and so she introduced herself through a timorous voice, quiet and delicate. “Most excellent, Victoria,” he had huffed along and introduced himself as well —

 

“I am Viktor var Ruthern, and I need a wife.”

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A quaint boutique loomed, its inhabitants bustling within. The Madame Clementine sat in front of a broad, headless mannequin.  It bore a crisp, new suit — dyed to a uniformed shade of dark grey, and lined with lush fur to show one's opulence. A placid smile sat on her lips, admiring her work.

 

Magnificent, she thought, a finger tracing the cold, unused cloth. Perfect for a lordling such as he.

 

How long has it been since I’ve last seen you, dear friend?

 

How long? She wonders in her lonesome.

 

Arising from her stool, she inclined her head towards the window stream’s light. The new-gold flowed everso warm, bidding for her. Tidying her workspace, Victoria went offward to her friend, unbeknownst of his death.

 

T-lpmGtxo8ppRQa6WfpqKCskbuXN9a8LWvgQGoUHIor0rgOzhHfTnrdTIcHwC1G7sxAbXxOOd_WeYkafqo49xb1Gis5C_qFS9Xm5r9qkP-fRhjh-ocE1muCAlyO7odjUDft-CCxp=s0

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Erik Ruthern watched the city fall along with many others. Always one of duty he began organizing the ISA for relief efforts. The aged Lord was unaware of his sons role or even death in the event, believing Viktor to be off on another of his adventures. 
 

As the weeks and months would grow the old Ruthern grew more and more worried as no word has reached him.

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Ivan trotted around the manor at Kositz, as well as the streets of Providence. It wasn't often that he had the chance to speak with his father, and when he did, they were often short, to-the-point conversations, usually about his many questions regarding the happenings of the world. He still wonders sometimes how it all worked, though he was getting older and learning. Whenever the family got together, he'd peer towards the door, hoping that either his mother or father would enter and surprise the lot of them. No such happening would ever occur, not now, not ten years from now, not ever.

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A black-haired woman lets out a sigh, sewing up a coat of sorts as the news is made public, unknowingly enjoying her last moments of blissful ignorance. 

 

[Reserved]

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Spoiler

 

 

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evan-brown-evanbrownseniorporfolio9.jpg?

 

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TACT boded the futile footfalls of one contingent of far-seeing men; prints and tracts of their sabatons, flung far and near, biding the earthen steppe that was ANDO ALUR, smote by nascent forces and synergies of mana. VLADISLAV's watch was chiding: a hoar frost and cool whipping ravenously 'gainst his ebon vestments, boring his form with a rime cold from the naves to the chops — despairing, as it capered the sullen glade, almost, vicariously projecting the ivory citadel: twice five miles of fertile ground, tawny towers girded 'round. From his rear, reticent breaths found resolve, estranging the wiseman known as MENEUS OF VOR, positively clad from corner to corner, tenaciously met at the fringe of his kindred, the MAN-MAKER: discordant, grating chords which trilled through the prairie, to the base of those eastbound alps: snow-capped, in rows four-by-four.

 

FOR, the ground was sundered from its seams: and from it, rose vapours of dominion, ringstraked with vestiges of the cataclysm — a testament to the might of magicka. The RAEV of the litter sniffled with some modicum of lethargy, a pestilential nimbus exhumed from 'twixt his nostrils: the bridge of his snout reaping a number of pleats and folds, scrunched with silent, forsaken rumination. In truth, a trepidation bore his mien, from top to bottom; the wick of his torch spitting with torrents of granular cinder, the cataclysmic haar subsiding at its spittle, proving insufficient to mitigate his shudder and qualms.

 

'FROM the vestiges of ANDO ALUR, the frameworks of ASH'AR became manifest, the final foothold of mankind unadulterated by PALEBEAST,' decreed one amongst the motley band.

 

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ofelia-cover-3.jpg

 

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VLADISLAV'S pedantic survey ran athwart from the ruination, cast unto the unseeing seer at his leftward flank: then harkening to the uncomely desolation which was the remnant threshold of ANDO ALUR, a sequence and cadence of heady sighs exhumed from the lordling. The heel of his leathered sabaton grazed and skimmed the rent pauldron of a cadaver: felled by the rout and retreat from that Haelun'orii fief. His stoic posture lurched and teetered to and fro, only 'ere it drew to a halt in full swing: cross-examining the lame carcass' vestments, textile from textile, considering its minutia with a sliver of discontent.

 

Hrescinded his glare from the unseemly thing; opting defer to the MAN-MAKER:

 

"Another spirit rent and spent, cast aside like a battered torch.

… The Palebeast is hearty, even here, Psevdosaiman.

 

We have need for stock of valour: not yet battered,

Man-maker.

 

Ithe wake of that exchange, he penned and compiled a number of missives and writs; entrusting them upon a varmint courier, to cast them upon the four corners of the world, to a numbered stock of acquaintances, far-flung, VIKTOR among them, unknowing that he would know no such letter.

 

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Spoiler

here's to you.

thanks for all the good times on viktor,

figured i'd muster up a response.

 

the initial whiplash after hearing about this isn't gone just yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Silence – the singular term to emulate the essence of family of Anastasia Ruthern, or was it a consistent, never-ending battle of her consciousness to decipher whether it was familial love or hatred she expressed for those who gave her life? Many words, some vulgar, described the feelings she held for both her mother and father who disappeared – one leaving behind an unfinished letter and the latter nothing at all. 

 

So few of her interactions with her father were joyous, if any at all. The admiration she held for the man who she replicated physically (albeit with her own feminine features) and characteristically diminished with age and a maturity thrust upon her. Yet still did she pray in the evenings for one day where there may be a time that she sought after his paternal advice, although it seemingly never-ending in pessimism. 

 

After the disappearance of her mother, and presumed death, the dynamics of her immediate family fell to mere tiny, shattered pieces of an already broken household. Now, there were no pieces left at all – no family to rebuild from its ashes blown away in the wind. The weight of responsibility that akin to a maternal or paternal figure fell upon her shoulders as the eldest of the four offspring of the vanished Princess Helen of Crestfall and heir to the County of Kositz, Lord Viktor Ruthern. Her stomach churned at the sheer liabilities and standards she was to be held at, almost fearful of all she would be distressed with 'til her dying days. On her neck she shook the Lorraine cross filled with a liquid unknown to her, something created at the hands of her brilliant father, and watched as the religious totem lit up with a faint, shimmering glow. 

 

When the day was done and nothing more was to be said or had, she'd close her eyes and attempt to recall the earliest years of her childhood where shreds of minimal happiness were shared whilst gazing upon the only gift her father gave her. She could only remember one, yet it was enough. 

 

Spoiler

Thanks for all the great RP, Kujo. You and bickando were the best set of parents I've had on a character in a hot minute and it caused a lot of really interesting RP – as well as some of the most interesting writing & characters I've seen in a while. Super complex character I always enjoying interacting with on Anastasia!

 

Edited by Eryane
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"Good ******* riddance," commented Anne of Crestfall to her older and now only sister. "He never treated Helen well... I hope she will come back to us now that he is hopefully dead."

@VIROS

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23 minutes ago, Fie said:

"Good ******* riddance," commented Anne of Crestfall to her older and now only sister. "He never treated Helen well... I hope she will come back to us now that he is hopefully dead."

@VIROS

 

Josephine Augusta sits in her office reviewing a census form, then looks up sharply as her sister barges in to share the news of their sister's belated husband. She nods slowly, remarking in a melancholy tone "Perhaps she shall." But after nearly five years since Helen's disappearance, it was clear she did not believe it.

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On 8/25/2021 at 2:53 PM, venclair said:

A likeness of Viktor var Ruthern by the Madame Clementine. [Art by me!]

 

The wind blows Viktor's ashes into a smiley face.

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