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RUSTED STEEL [PK]


louislxix
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The retired Duchess considered herself to be a woman of her word.

 

She recalled a distant memory, one of violence, betrayal even. Despite all of the damage it might’ve caused, she’d promised her husband to be loyal. To love him endlessly till the end of her days. “Ea will always love vy, Ailred,” she said to him, dampening her cloth to rid of the gore splattered about her husband’s sullen visage. Madalene appeared rather calm in her state, with her reddened cheek swelling, yet from within her mind raced. 

 

“Please, do niet leave me.”  Her love had begged, begged for forgiveness for what he had done - the sheer betrayal of their vows. 

 

Though Madalene had never intended to leave her husband all those years ago, even then she did not want to; through the rush of emotion, she told him she knew of what she agreed to at the altar. 

 

“Vyr my husband, it is my duty to love vy unconditionally.” Truly, she had. In every sense of the word, Madalene loved her husband. 

 

Alas, as with this half-faded memory of times long gone, all things must end.

 

Her impending sickness had spread to her joints, disease-ridden, unable to walk, and now confined to the old room she had shared with her husband. The dozens of stairs were a true feat for the aging woman, so there she lay. Alone, without her children, without care, tossed to the side as her husband had served his nation. 

 

ClickClick ... Click … The sound of footfalls neared the door to her chambers, and for the first time in many long days, the Lady had found herself rising from bed. Walking, albeit not very well, Madalene sluggishly inched toward the doors of her room as a few slow knocks fell upon them. 

 

She swung the doors open, and there stood her stepdaughter-in-law, Marie. 

 

“Vy must leave–” The Lady stammered, “It could be contagious…” It could have been, but she could never know for sure as the immovable visage of Life’s withering never dared to step foot out of the crimson keep.

 

“Ailred did niet make it,” The Duchess strode further into the lone chambers of the previous, “Yam terribly szam...”

 

Silence held swift in the absence of her words. When next the Duchess began to speak she was silenced with a simple gesture. A plea to leave the Lady of the Crimson Keep to her grief.

 

When the door slid back into its firm position, erasing the warm presence of another soul, Madalene took to her chambers. Every step a thought, a memory, her body moving as a construct, made of creaking iron. She eventually collapsed into a dusty chair. A simple object really. On cold and sickly nights, returning from his duties, she had felt the warmth of her lost Love, wreathed in prickly furs and familiar scents, as he rested his aching bones before joining her in bed.

This chair. A simple seat, a reassuring memory. Yet even sat right where he did, she felt naught of it. Just the ghost of a time before his departure.

 

Now she sits as he did, bones aching, body sagging, resting wearily from what felt like several days worth of emotion. She held a silent vigil in that seat. Her body refused to rest as she clasped her hands together, urging his spirit onwards to peace. Only then did she allow her tears to flow.

 

Though he would end those nights on the chair by nestling deep within her arms…

 

… She could not join him in bed. Not until it was her time to rest.

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Marie Ruthern, the current Duchess of Vidaus, found herself in a whirlwind of turmoil as soon as the news of her father-in-law’s death reached her.

 

Firetly, she had placed a hand upon her husband's shoulder gently, trying to pry him into opening up about something - anything, though she could hardly provide any comfort.

 

She had not yet experienced the loss of a parent, though Ailred certainly felt like one to her.

 

Marie then found herself within the basilica later on. She promptly lowered her head into her hands as she sat upon a pew, dabbing at her teary eyes - only momentarily, as she then found herself holding a crying Angelika within her grasp soon thereafter.

 

She would now have to bear the responsibility of Ailred's youngest children: she felt it was her duty, perhaps.

 

"Ea'll watch vyr girls, Ser Ailred - ea promise vy."

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An oversized and tired Baron sits on his quiet and lonely chair after a hard day of battle. The siege was action packed, and Robert had not had so much fun in what seemed to be decades. It was only after the battle that his brother-in-law Edmund @Coolcod77informed the entire Kingdom that the Field Marshal and Prevailer, Ser Ailred var Ruthern, a man that Robert had followed into battle countless times and had rose to his position under, was dead.

 

The old and fat Baron made his way up the spiraling stairway, his armored boots making a clink with every heavy step he took. Upon making it to the balcony, the cold wind pressed on to his face. It was a chilling and yet calming one. After his servant left the Baron their finest bottle of Carrion and a glass, he was once again left alone.

 

 

Burble, gurgle, splash...

The glass was filled to the brim with Black. One was poured over the edge of the balcony, facing the direction of Vidaus, while the rest filled the Baron's stomach. However, for the first time in years, Robert drank normally. He had a hardened glare to the mountainous horizon. It was here that he realized, he was the last patriarch, current or former, and was also one of the last to stand. A cruel and yet important reminder that not only was he getting old, but lonely. "Rest easy, old comrade. Vyr reunited with Feni now..." he said before returning to his study, and once again, alone.

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Ever since the day Angelika Ruthern's lesson had backfired (leading to the small girl spewing all sorts of obscenities), and Emma had been forced to face the wrath of the retired Lord Marshal, she had always skirted around his looming figure thereafter, sweating buckets each time he started up his questions, fearing another reprimand from the stoic man.

 

But now, as victory cries still rang in the streets and drunkards slumped out of the tavern in the early hours, she paused in the quiet of her office, expression softening as she considered their fight. While there was plenty reason to be jovial, the Queen resolved that she would not forget those who were lost - this missive was a reminder of that, more than anything. "A man who gave the ultimate sacrifice to his Kingdom... may Godani guide him."  

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Sofiya Antonia vas Ruthern rushed outside the Palace as she heard the victory chants of the returning fighters echoing from the gates. Excitedly she stood atop the stairs, keeping an eye out for her father and brother. Over time the woman grew more and more nervous and as she found her sister-in-law Marie Ruthern comforting her brother, she too collapsed onto her knees. 

 

Tears streamed down her cheeks leaving darker spots on the fabric of her gowns. The Soldiers marched towards the Tavern, but the late Dukes daugther trotted towards their family seat, spirits crushed.

 

 

 

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The Marshal of Haense let out an inaudible grunt in response to the soldier who came to deliver the news of the Field Marshal's found body.

 

For a moment, the man stood silently next to the Orenian fortification with his Hussariyan cross in his hand. Then, with a deep sigh, he turned to return to his Brothers.

Edited by Frymark
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friar viktor signs the lorraine "rip bozo, amen, may he rest in the seven skies happily ever after"

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"Trust me Otto! Godan will niet hate vy for having an eyebrow-ring for goodness sake! If he ends up hating vy then i'll be in vyr debt- if we fight alongside each other i'll protect vy till the end!"

 

"He kept his promise." Otto August relayed to his wife as he sat in the chambers of his keep. Tossing aside ashen covered and blood stained armor into the bin to be discarded- armour now from a time he'd wish to forget.

"May we spar many more in the seven skies my friend. We shall fight alongside eternally- nie matter the endeavors or feats, it is the binding of brotherhood that bring us all together and it is such that shall keep us together. Look over us all, Ailred." Otto then made his way into room, saying his prayers for the night and offering a final drink in the name of his Lord Marshal.

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"The field marshal?" August Barclay murmured after the siege as the news arrived for him. Idly, he was seated on a small cot in his tent as he signed the Lorraine in remembrance of the field marshal who'd help lead them in the battle.

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Hiding within Vidaus was Stefaniya vas Ruthern with her dear sister, Angelika, the sounds of war, although far, were pounding in her ears. She could imagine the metal clanking and the explosions catapulting from the trebuchets, and the many men and women putting down their lives for their country, and this scared her. 

 

Although it was a battle of God and Land, she could only imagine her ailing father upon the fields, putting his last, like how he did with her and Angelika. 

 

"When will papej be home?" The girl queried innocently to her mother, awaiting his arrival so she could greet him the same way she always did, with a hug and a kiss, and the gift he brought for her upon returning was a story, always. 

 

Then he came. 

 

Blood ran from his mouth, staining his dark beard with eyes shut and body lifeless. She watched as he was carried into Vidaus, faces of solemn, faces of war. Stefaniya watched as he was transferred through the courtyard, and she followed behind, hoping to encounter him, to hear his smoky voice, just once

 

"Papej? What's wrong with papej?" Stefaniya trailed, continuing to ask the people surrounding her father, but no answer was gifted to Stefaniya, no word of her father's life, and how it had slipped from this world into the Seven Skies, and no word about what happened,

 

And, no goodbye except her own. 

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Whilst Rhys will not remember his father fondly, he will admit he did a great deed for his Kingdom this day.
 

 

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Sigmar Mondblume, whom looked up to this knight his whole life, truly broke into a sob of tears. Tears of sadness but as well as respect. The tears reflected his honor towards the knight whom died fighting. His tears of sadness are ones of which will never forget the knight, and ones of which will miss him for eternity. Among the many who died, why him?  The only thing holding the Baron together was the thought of fulfillment that Ailred would have felt. A man of great armor, steel, strength, and wisdom died a great death. A great death that will always be remembered to every young generation. As all these thoughts began sieging into the Mondblume's head, it only gained him more remorse. He couldn't even let out a word...

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