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A No Longer Grand Lady [PK]


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A depiction of Adalia Ruthern, in what would be one of her final moments



The early morning sun rose above Vidaus, and a cold breeze rolled through her open window. She had always thought that allowing in a cold morning breeze helped maintain her wrinkleless face, something or other that her mother had taught her when she was a child. The morning routine was the same as usual, perhaps one of the few times of day where she focused on anything beyond herself. She woke up alone, Harren off tending to the apartment in Oren, and rose from the bed to begin her walk throughout their children’s many rooms in the keep.


The first room was, of course, the girl named after herself, Adalia Anastasya. Her likeliness to her mother had always been rather uncanny, a true beautiful daughter of her own, as she would describe it. The girl lay in her bed, sleeping soundly. Adalia, the younger, did not usually wake up until later on in the day, and by then Adalia, the elder, had long since begun on her daily work. It left the two rather little time to spend together. 


The rooms belonging to Harren, Filip, and Owyn were, as per usual, empty. The three boys spent the majority of their time with their father in Oren, aiding him with his ambassadorial work. Harren shared appearances with his twin, Adalia, taking after their mother. Filip and Owyn, on the other hand, took much more after their father and their Ruthern blood - though with their father’s quirks which made them much more bearable to look at, in her not-so-humble opinion. Though, of all, Filip was the most like their father, interested in politics and different cultures. Despite the fact that she knew they would not be there, she nevertheless opened the door every morning, just to see if one day they may appear, sleeping soundly in their beds.


Counting on next was Analiesa, named in her late sister’s honour. Her girls were lucky, to both be as beautiful as their mother. Long blonde hair, coupled with lighter blue eyes. It was a certain beauty that was largely unknown in this Haense, where black hair and darker eyes were the most common. Analiesa however, was not home. She always left rather early in the morning, she probably had a boyfriend somewhere that she went off to see. Adalia could only hope that her daughter would marry that boyfriend soon.


Then came the last room - Joren’s room. An odd case, he had been sent off to a foreign boarding school in Kalden many years ago, educated in a great variety of matters. He had developed a tendency for sleeping on his face, inhaling his pillow more so than anything. But this morning, oh this morning, Joren’s face was there for the whole world to see… Her husband had a rather tasteful and handsome beard… But the growth presenting itself upon Joren’s face? That was beyond horrible, the most despicable and wretched thing that she had ever laid her eyes upon. She could feel her heart ache, shatter, ruin, upon the sight that lay before her. Her boy, her baby. Ruined, tainted, ugly.


She froze in the doorway, hand clutched to her chest. The pain that the sight brought upon her was immense, nearly indescribable. Her eyes locked in upon the beard, as her breathing first became shallow, before it stopped entirely. That ugly thing in that bed was no son of hers, there was no way that it could be. The woman’s spirit and will withered at once, as she crumbled onto the floor.


A few servants quickly noticed her, but they arrived all too late, or perhaps there was no saving her at all? Whatever it was that had killed Adalia, be it a heart attack or a pure broken heart, there was no denying that the sight of Joren’s beard had killed, and that the Grand Lady was truly dead.






356 - 398 E.S. | 1803 - 1845


Grand Lady of Hanseti-Ruska

380 - 398 E.S. | 1827 - 1845


Royal Alderwoman

371 - 379 E.S. | 1818 - 1826 A.H.

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The young Ruthern lord, Joren var Ruthern, sat in the tavern that night after the death of his mother nursing his fifth Carrion black of the evening. His eyes were partially glazed, but retained some form of interested spark towards the barkeep across the counter. As she moved around to offer a refill of his tankard, he leaned across the counter.  "You know. They call me a lady-killer, both figuratively and literally." 

At that he twirled his large moustache that had killed his mother. All in a day's work.

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Ser Reinhardt signed himself when he heard the news of the Grand Lady’s passing, while in her later years she had become Difficult, he respected her for her commitment to family,and Koengzem 

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"Good ******* riddance." Tavisha Markov gladly said to herself upon hearing the news, chuckling amusedly after a snort from her nostrils. The Dame thus reminisced the nasty and (to her) irrelevant acts of the loathsome ex-grand lady, wondering if such a role's main prerequesite was to be as repulsive as a woman can be, given her past experiences with the bearers of such a title.


She would seek out Harren though, given her half-cousin had been at least bit nicer to her than the others; to no avail though, for he had already sailed. Instead, she'd relish spitting on Adalia's grave whenever she had the chance.


All the Rutherns from her generation were dying or vanishing away - it left the woman contemplative, but not truly sad, no, for few she ever deemed as real family - and in her mind Tavisha had an idea of who could be next...

Edited by Althea_
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Analiesa's Vasile vas Ruthern's pale blue gaze drifted up to the sky a watery trapped in the young girl's eyes. She would tuck a strand of blonde hair back into place taking in a small breath and pulling herself back toghter "Ea will see vy in the skies again someday mamej, Ea promise vy that ea will make vy proud." she nodded her head slowly droping her shoulders and smiling faintly "Yam more beautiful than vy so yam already on the right path." she chuckled shaking her head slowly the laugh helping to get out the feelings she'd now tuck away once more "Sasbia" she whisperd out now her gaze shifting away from the sky over to one of the few reasons she'd keep going Michael.

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Adelheid frowned at the news of her friends passing, muttering to the wall "Another lifetime.." recalling all the good times....





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8 minutes ago, Firelight9 said:

 her gaze shifting away from the sky over to one of the few reasons she'd keep going Michael.

Michael O'Rourke glides his deep-green orbs over to land upon the grieving Ruthern girl he cares so much for. The young man treads softly as he moves to her side and offers a small, consoling smile. "I'm sorry I ne'er had t'e chance to meet her, Liesa," he utters softly, before letting the silence surround them.

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Rosalind had never truly devoted herself to God.


It was no surprise, then, that she didn't reach the Seven Skies. Instead the Grand Lady remained tied to the mortal realm - chained - as she put it, to observe the mundane goings on each day. She had scrutinised Adalia's every action for years: ever-present, although invisible. Her favourite grandhcild was of course, Joren, as he resembled her the most in character and looks. Although his hideous moustache was positively detrimental to her good opinion, and brought all such aforementioned affections into question.


She hovered above Adalia's limp form as various servants bustled and got in her way. Sobbing ensued. The racket hurt her precious ears, which had always been terribly sensitive to sound. Rosalind was quite certain she had looked lovelier on her deathbed, and wondered why Adalia had let herself go. Though the woman reined in her emotions, an unexpected lump formed in her throat, and her features twisted into a grimace. She didn't stay much longer. Perhaps she grieved her daughter, that they would never properly reunite. Or, perhaps, her expression crumpled into jealousy: anger, that Adalia's death only served to taunt her. A pitiful reminder of how distant her youth had become.

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