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[PK] Sanctuary


Unwillingly
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“I lament that you wore a crown before I.”
“There are better things to be proud of than Sutican royalty.”

 

Recalling the memory nearly made Cyrene gag. Truly, A terrible period of her life — it was like being reminded of that embarrassing deed in middle school, except on a much more historically damaging scale. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but find humor in the jest, even if she had to force a smile through her grimace. 

 

“How long have we known one another?”
“Decades. Centuries, even.” 

 

And yet, even now, they spoke. What more could she be than grateful to still be able to say such a thing where others could not? Where others would be lucky to be able to see such a lasting friendship, even in everlasting life? That was the unfortunate part — she was, as some would say, a cultureless swine. She had no deity to offer her thanks to, no faith nor creed to follow where she could show some measure of gratitude.

 

“You feel as though you have run your course?”
“If I do not die now, I will die unhinged and mad, they say.”  

 

Though Malin’s children were blessed with longevity and what was practically eternal life, most perished before they could reach that point. If they did reach that point, they weren’t expected to live very long — the mind succumbs to the burden of immortality, wrought into madness after only being able to handle so many inevitable horrors that they would face in life. 

 

“Where do you wish it to be done?”
“I hear the Hinterlands have much to offer.” 

 

There was a joke in that conversation at one point. Something about the gouging of eyes as to test a healing concoction brewed from the forlorn days of Axios, or perhaps earlier on. Dark as it may be, it managed to pry a weak chuckle from her throat. 

 

“You have slain people before — will you find this any different?”

“Yes.”
 

He was always known to be quite candid in every sense of the word. For him to reply so truthfully, so honestly to a question despite what she knew of him, almost made her regret making the request in the first place. To ask him to endure such a thing, knowing that he would live and she would not, made her throat ache.


“I wish you better in death than you had in life.”
“Thank you, my friend.”

 

In another timeline, she would have bit her tongue and done the deed herself. This wasn’t that timeline, however. 

 

It’s easier when someone else is holding the knife. 
 

 


 

((OOC: The knowledge of Cyrene's death is public to anyone who wishes to know))
 

Spoiler


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And there you have it, Cyrene is dead :(

I'll admit, I had a very hard time actually going through with this PK despite the fact that I haven't really done anything with her for close to a year. She just sat on the shelf, collecting dust. Figured I'd give her a proper burial after getting some advice from @Bhased. We've all had our "first" characters, and she was mine, but I would never call her a good or well-molded character, and I think growing up, I started to realize that (I started playing her when I was roughly 14 - I'm 18 now), so it caused my disinterest to continue playing her. To this day I still feel like I have no clue how to describe her personality.

I've had her since I started playing the server seriously again in 2017 on Axios, so it's one of those sentimental things, y'know? Don't use it, but don't want to throw it out either. Despite all of that, knowing that I currently RP with players who are significantly helping me enjoy my time on LOTC makes me feel better about this PK. My reluctance is negated by the fact that I know I have other characters who can replace this one in how I spend my time on LOTC, characters whose stories I admittedly grow attached to. For me, it's never about the character itself, it's about the story. 

I've never actually written a PK post before, so this is by no means good -- I've definitely written better things, and in general, I'm very tentative to post my writing on the forums. Plus its 3am and I'm ngl I kind of wanted to just get this over with

Happy roleplaying yall 🙏

 

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"Ser Dael." 


A bright grin soon appeared over his face, the young boy jumping up and down in excitement causing his scarlet cape to flop over his ginger perm. "Ser Dael! Yes! Uh, what my title?"
".. Urgh.."
Cyrene's eyes blinked to the side as she thought, and only after a second she spoke once more. "The Great." She'd utter without much care, really only entertaining this annoyance so that he'd go away.
"Ser Dael the Great!" He'd quickly salute the 'ame, his fingers slapping against his forehead, causing a red mark. "I'm Ser Dael! I go on patrol now, thanks Grandma!" Soon after, the boy moved his wooden sword away from his belt - running off with a skip in his step.
"Stop calling me that! I'm not your grandmother!" She'd yell after the child as he left, moving back to lean against the bench. 


A happier time - a simpler time for the now Dark Lord. Another face. Another phase

Another loss. 

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"The material is truly never meant to last- I've known that much"

 

Amidst the recent voidal works in Ando'alur, Dael'ran now travelled from city to city boredly, as if lacking true purpose in the world. He had witnessed the worldly destruction and it confused him- but in the midst of it all the news reached his ear, telling of death.

 

"I've seen the soulstream and its a place I think you might like- well hopefully anyway.

 

The rather somber look on Dael's face continued to stand and overtake his features. For a time his feet dragged, his lips curled into a scowl, and his head was aimed to the ground. 

 

"Rest easy, Cyrene."

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The turbulent Atherian waves crashed against the rocks of the island.  Their thunderous rolls sometimes reached the subterranean archives and halls that an aged high elf now lurked in, having dedicated the remaining years of her sane life serving the Dragaar Aedrex.  After hearing rumor of his existence in this bygone land of ruin, she joined The Great Voyage made by the rest of the descendants to track him down. . . Choosing to then stay behind, knowing full well she shall likely never see the face of another descendant again; at least, not a face she'd recall.

 

Nemir mourned over these echoes of memory, yet remained diligent and dedicated to her vow pledged to the decrepit scholar of old.  Perhaps her duties served as a distraction to the past, yet that memory always found her in her dreams.  She embraced them, much unlike how she would regard slumber decades prior.  One particular night, her thoughts swam and the face of a particular wood elf was brought to vision; a woman named Cyrene.

 

A curious relationship they had, though one could argue it was nonexistent.  Despite their rare interactions between one another, Nemir had always been fond of Cyrene.  For the remainder of the week, she wondered how this old acquaintance of her faired before more memories became unveiled to her.  Their sweet echoes always bringing an ache to her chest.

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Just now, UnBaed said:

The turbulent Atherian waves crashed against the rocks of the island.  Their thunderous rolls sometimes reached the subterranean archives and halls that an aged high elf now lurked in, having dedicated the remaining years of her sane life serving the Dragaar Aedrex.  After hearing rumor of his existence in this bygone land of ruin, she joined The Great Voyage made by the rest of the descendants to track him down. . . Choosing to then stay behind, knowing full well she shall likely never see the face of another descendant again; at least, not a face she'd recall.

 

Nemir mourned over these echoes of memory, yet remained diligent and dedicated to her vow pledged to the decrepit scholar of old.  Perhaps her duties served as a distraction to the past, yet that memory always found her in her dreams.  She embraced them, much unlike how she would regard slumber decades prior.  One particular night, her thoughts swam and the face of a particular wood elf was brought to vision; a woman named Cyrene.

 

A curious relationship they had, though one could argue it was nonexistent.  Despite their rare interactions between one another, Nemir had always been fond of Cyrene.  For the remainder of the week, she wondered how this old acquaintance of her faired before more memories became unveiled to her.  Their sweet echoes always bringing an ache to her chest.

 

Nemir's imaginary friend, a long-nosed Gnome named Kewner, laid a metaphysical hand on her shoulder with a sigh. This was the life of solitude she herself had chosen, but that certainly did not make it easy.

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The news would reach the tavern-keep amongst the mess of another loss. He'd receive it and send the courier off with a tip and a smile, and steps between his breweries stills, leaning against the wall and letting out a loud sigh, sliding to the ground..

"Gods above, please give her some rest. She deserves it. We all know she does." He'd mutter to himself, tossing the letter into the fire of a still and going about his work.

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Telos Andr- No, just Ehier released a sigh. He remembered Cyrene from his time back in Sutica, though those times had long passed now. Things had changed; as they always do. From his pocket, he conjured a small notebook, hesitating for only a moment before he wrote a name amongst the ocean of other names in the book.

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