Shattered Jewel

[Itz_Cookie 1974]

A Shattered Jewel

 

The Countess of Halstaig at her sons side circa. 1841

 

 

---

 

“Mama- I don’t feel well..” 
A young Alexander O’Rourke murmured to his mother.
“I know, my sweet boy.” 
Iduna returned, almost cooing to the boy. Gently caressing his cheek with her thumb while the other hand dabbed his forehead with a dampened towel.
 “You will feel better soon, I promise…” 

Her promise wasn't necessarily a lie but it wasn't the truth either. The Countess knew her son was ill, it’d been caught too late to reverse the consequences. She laid beside the boy in her chambers for months on end, making him as comfortable as possible before the evidential time came for him to leave the realm to the seven skies.
“Mama-” Alexander coughed hoarsely and in return a cup of warm tea was delivered to quench whatever pain there was in his throat. 

Silence.. It always came before the worst didn’t it? Silence before the storm, silence before the deliverance of unwanted or bad news..
Each and every time it would hit like a million glass shards puncturing her skin.

Drifting off to sleep, that short exchange of words with her son would be the last ever shared. He was gone.. And she knew it. Bestowing upon the child's brow was a maternal kiss.
“I will see you again, my sweet boy.”

 

---

From the desk of THE RT HON, Countess of Halstaig; 

"To my loving family, the O’Rourkes,

With heartache I write to you all to announce the death of my eldest son, Alexander Erin O’Rourke. Many months ago he fell ill, it went untreated for some time and just within the past month God has taken him back to his side. May he rest well within the seven skies.
I ask nothing more than that you keep him in your hearts and minds for the years to come."
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Signed, Iduna Anne O’Rourke,
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             TRH Countess of Halstaig
 

Spoiler

Hello, If you are not an O’Rourke player please do not react to this unless you’ve learned of the death through proper roleplay! If you are an O’Rourke player feel free to react :)
Sorry for the poor writing or concept, I struggled through a headache to get this done!

 

[StrongBear 1239]

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elias O'Rourke curled his fingers around Iduna's shoulders as he watched the woman write and send out the letter to the rest of the family, the man who is always has a cheeky demeanor about him, that has since slowly left his countenance, a smile nor a frown shown over the man's face. "Ich vill be back 'n a moment, dear." The Count softly spoke before turning on his heels, heading to the gardens 

 

"Be vell my son, keep an eye 'n vyr mamej for me." Spoke he towards the night sky. A mere moment's later, the towering Highlander, drops to his knee's, driving his fist into the soft ground, one after another, over and over again, "Ich am sorry, it's t' soon, vy did nicht get t' see t'e vorld as ich did." His voice cracks, tears start to stream down the man visage, once again another piece that was holding him together, chipped away, "Ich liebe dich mein Sohn, es tut mir leid, dass ich nicht für dich da war, als du mich am meisten brauchtest" The Count mutters out in Waldenian, "Maln, know ich know vhy vy didn'  vant me t' 'ave this feelin'." Elias fell silent after this, his tired and worn gaze slowly making their way back to the night sky.

Elias slowly brought himself to stand, his legs were heavy, taking a few more moment to somewhat collect himself before he eventually returns to his chambers, but kept to his silence as if he were a boy once more.

 

[RaindropsKeepFalling 886]

 

“We all have a burden we must carry.” A friend had once told young Theo.

 

---

 

She never was around Halstaig much, these days; there was too much to avoid. Too many memories. What had once been the home she longed to return to was now a place she dreaded to see in the eve, for she knew something was imminent. And so, Theodosia arrived. She was right.

 

Somehow, the walls felt more imposing. The air was cold. She crossed her arms upon her entry through those wooden gates, minding her limp. She passed by Calahan, paying him no mind. Soon, she found herself burgeoning inside; her lower lip quivered.

 

Where was her mother? Where was her papej? Where were they to comfort her?

 

And with every wayward step further into the estate, it grew apparent that she was alone. That is, 'till someone or another, perhaps a maid, passed through the halls- somber. Something was foreboding, and Theo knew it. She'd known it since she was a little girl. There was always time to wait for something better, though. There had to be time. She wondered if it was really true.

 

That individual passed Theodosia the note with a simple bow of their head, and then they were gone; a passerby like the wind. It seemed like a common occurrence, these days. It wasn't fair, but neither was life. She had to be strong, for Eloise, for Alexander... for everyone. 

 

She set that familiar cane of her's aside, taking a seat in the sitting area as she prepared for the very worst. As she scanned each line of the missive of her brother's death, her hands grew o so tense, crumpling the page. It was the very worst. She let out a sharp breath, reeling forward with an anguished whine. The world spun around her, a blur of viridescent hues. 

 

Yet, her expression was blank. She'd never known him well, after all. Naught had really changed. He was always an introspective boy, seldom leaving his room. He took after his uncle. What did his absence possibly change? Theodosia couldn't quite answer that question; but surely, there was a difference. There was some awful lack thereof in the atmosphere. He was dead. Only thirteen, and he was dead. Why hadn't she sought to know him? She'd done everything despite her resentment, and he was dead! 

 

Soon, the young heiress closed her glossy eyes in prayer, wishing for a better place in the Skies for her poor brother. She would never forget the wails of her mother in the confines of her room.

 

[bloomtiara 379]

The Countess' elder brother listened to her cries from across the hall, from within his own room. The horrified, haunting cry of a mother was one he won't soon forget. Oh, How that sound did ring in his ears.

 

When the boy was carried from the room, Auden could only witness in sadness, as a lone rusted shovel rested in the gardens of the county; soon to be used.

If not for his Cousin, that may long be him... His heart beat thrummed erratically within his chest, exhausted eyes watching the grieving parents with pity.

" I'll help."

"Je vous aime. Il est aimé aussi."

[Pyrite 192]

A tall standing Adunian, entered the grounds of Halstaig, used to the feeling of death and gloom. Alone he sat in the gardens as a breeze blew from the mountains to the east. "They're always too young. . . Aren't they?" He'd seem to ask for some GOD above as he'd bow his head in prayer. "Seigneur misericorde cher Alexandre alors qu'il te rejoint dans les sept cieux." Uttered the man in his prayer

 

[Cypher_nicus 64]

Deep in the Keep of Sunbreak's light, a Father holds his Son and laments for the loss of a grandchild.

He wondered not for the first time, on the wisdom of gods, and the unfairness of loss of one so young. 

 

[Jameson_h 393]

An ageing even further greying Ricky O'Rourke would sit in his study enjoying his retirement as a letter was handed off to him, with little more then a deep hum he would take a long drink of his Dark Armas Stout and shakes his head and pens a letter to his family members 

To the Countess and Count of Halstaig and dearest Niece and Nephew, I wish you only the most smooth and healing time of grieving one can hope for, the lost of a child is as difficult a thing a parent can go through, With Love, Condolences and wishes for a brighter future
-Patrick O'Rourke II
 
 

[Rosey532 7]

A young girl sat in the garden of her home. Though she and Alexander had not often gone out and played with each other, the twins quiet giggles carried through the house when they did.

Eloise missed her brother, her friend since birth. Now it was only her quiet cries that were heard.

[Setsuko_ 308]

From his post, guarding The Tower, Edward Thuri-Elendil watched the night's surroundings with his ever vigilant eyes. The aurum bardiche hung loosely in his grasp, the polearm resting in the grass on it's other end. A courier begins to step up the path leading to the tower with a hastened step, bounding two at a time. Edward stands, too tired and injured from the Crackadonk fight mere hours before to even tighten his grip upon the polearm, watches with an idle gaze. At last the man approaches, offering a letter to Edward himself. It bore the crest of House O'Rourke, his birth home. He gives a small sigh, taking the missive and giving a tired nod of approval. He opens the letter, flexing his broken right hand gingerly. As he reads, all that escapes him as his eyes drift over the words is a small pained sigh. Though the man had left that life behind him after finding himself alone, he still felt a sadness at the loss. "Boed iddo orffwys yn dda" he says to nobody, being the only standing guard. He says a prayer to the ancestors of the O'Rourke and Elendil line, asking for them to receive their newest ancestor with pride. He takes a mental note as he looks out into the night once more, a saddened gaze upon him.

[KaiserJacobII 1461]

"I barely knew t'e boyo.. Yet it's still a bleedin' tragedy," Michael O'Rourke comments with a sigh as he sits in the Bastion courtyard. A pen rests idly in his left-most hand and leather-bound notebook lays open upon his lap. "Poor Aunt Iduna an' uncle Elias, an' T'eo," the youth laments. He sits there in silence for a good while before placing the pen upon the paper and scribbles something out, a simple verse for the lost child:

Speed o'er the empty space

soul of youth; for on the other side

there is still milk and honey,

and the freshest o' flowers;

daisies and roses e'er bloom

upon the graves o' those taken

far too soon, so sleep well

and dream bright