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Midnight Patrol [PK]


oryP

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[!] A missive would be shipped out to Orenian citizens.

 

 

 

From the early quakes of midnight to the dripping dew of dawn. An old man lays bedridden due to age and heart sickness. His eyes sag and his pores filled, his body weak, and his breathe drawn out. The old man but a victim to the horrors of the Nordling War, the MRA battles, and The Sheep War. 

 

He’d go to think back upon all the events that occurred through his life. Before taking one last breath and falling limp, Sir James ‘The Enforcer’ Madron had passed on to the Seven Skies. 


 

Spoiler

To: Charles Madron, 

 

I leave you the little possessions I have left to my name, for you have always and always will be my pride. For my only family and only son, I wish you the best of luck.

 

To: The Vuillers

 

You may not be my blood, but I view young Rev Vuiller as my own, for he has been an excellent young man and I wish to see him live out his life with young Diana. With that said, take in my dear son, Rev. As for Duncan, my friend, carry on the old Ministry Of Justice ways. Teach our next generation well.

 

To: Sir Ezekiel Moores & Sir Vladrick var Ruthern


As you both are my old friends from the combat academy I ask of you to care for my first son and teach him to grow stronger. For the boy has to atleast resemble me even if it’s a little. 

 

 

Spoiler

[OOC Note] First PK post, I highly enjoyed the character aswell. Especially all the people involved with him and the rp that came from it.

 

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Sir Solomon Obedia would read over the post. With a slight frown, he'd raise his glass of whiskey high into the air. "Here's to you, old friend. I'll see you soon." 

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The young Madron held the letter in a strong and trembling grip onto the letter in his hands as he sat silently near that eerie bed of his father that would be soon empty.


A solemn tear fell onto that parchment, smearing the ink.

Now he really was alone.

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Middle-Ages-Waste-feature-image-0312021.

 

Lars the dung farm wandered around the dung piles late into the night. He was stricken by the death of Sir James Madron. No, Lars have never spoken to the knight personally. Lars does not speak to men of such high stature. However, Lars had for many years collected the dung of the 'Enforcer' and had noted a savory sweet odor that only results from a strong diet.

 

"The Empire had so much left to learn from this man.." Lars would proclaim "On balanced eating, fibre intake, and gut health."

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"Are you really leaving the army for the Ministry of Justice?" A bewildered Corporal Ezekiel Moores queried, as the two newly promoted soldiers walked down the grand corridor of the Officer's Building, towards the always familiar set of steel doors. "I'll be damned if you get a higher pay than I do, Madron!"

 

Captain Sir Ezekiel Moores grimaced as a squeamish young squire delivered the news, running off as fast as he had arrived with it. Old brown eyes glossed over every single word; the captain sparing nothing from his mournful gaze. Stone digits drummed steadily against the neatly kept spruce desk, before coming to an abrupt halt as the man's deep brown orbs finally reached the bottom of the page. 

 

Ezekiel opened his mouth to speak, but for once in the cunning rogue's life, he had no words to offer. Nothing sharp, nothing witty, and certainly nothing profound. Just a plain, deafening silence. An old man, asphyxiated by a sudden sense of overwhelming emotion. And lo and behold, finally, the stoic figure wept for the second time in his long and arduous life, his digits curling into rageful fists, assailing his poor, poor table. 

 

It was morning when his men had found him, slumped and unconscious, his office in a mess and the putrid stench of liquor wafting from him. "Madron..." He murmured, in his drunken stupor, his eyes flitting awake as sun filtered through the torn curtains, "... You were one magnificent bastard..."

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Dame Amelia Hughes went to her captain’s office after a poor squire came to find her and tell her of the state of the despaired man. She sighed as she stood in the doorway, looking over the mess of a man. Still, she followed protocol and saluted him. “It’s time to pick yourself back up Captain. Madron was an ******* at worse and a devoted comrade at best.” She went over to his armor stand, taking the helmet from its post. Going to the desk of the slumped captain, she set it in front of him “let’s show him what we are made of before we join him in the seven sky’s”. 

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Sir Duncan Vuiller upon hearing of his friends passing would simply throw a fist to the wall. Unable to deal with the pain of losing yet another one of his oldest friends, and with the knowledge the last was very ill, his anger boiled high. “****” is the only thing that would be heard.

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Captain Hieran Melphestaus salutes the fallen soldier

" good man. At least he'll never deny me from an MoJ investigation again...."

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Joseph d'Azor signed the Lorraine as he read over the missive, placing it within the stack in his office that continued to grow each day. "Godspeed.... and may you find peace in everlasting rest..." 

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The Boreal druid, upon knowing James had passed away, fell silent for a couple moments, nature's song surrounding them following suit, this held breath was kept inside for few excruciating moments before, with a wave of emotions it was all released. Fear, anger, sadness and grief, the end was relief, for a soldier, a good man finally got to sleep.
"i'll remember you. My friend." The silver-eyed druid looked up at the moon above the canopy, an acorn retrieved from their pouch would become their fallen friend's memento "You were an oak, my friend. Reliable, be the day cold or hot, rain or not. You'd be there, just like this tree." They proceed to bury said seed into the ground by their home, where it would grow surrounded by fallen comrades.

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"Sir James Madron's life is truly an example of Orenian loyalty to the Imperial State. If I had to describe his personality in words I would say that he was a friend, a diligent and skillful agent, a brave and strong soldier and, most importantly, a fellow patriot.

 

Rest in peace, my friend. You will surely be missed."

 

Sir Charles Galbraith said to his uncle Major Galbraith in the Viscounty of Rivia in a small private ceremony that they held with former agents of the Ministry of Justice, soldiers of the Imperial State Army and the family of Sir James Madron.

 

"I at least will miss you, for sure, just as much as I already miss my fellow comrades Ernest Colbert, Garret Darkwood, and many other agents and brave orenians who left us throughout the years.

 

Every day of my life I wonder If I could have done more to save you all from such a terrible fate, but I don't think that a single man like me could have done more against so much hatred.

 

Nonetheless, you all did great, wherever you are now, my friends: know that I plan to join you in the Seven Skies in the future, and that I hope that when I meet you in the Skies you are not too angry with me for the mistakes that I made during my lifetime, for I am only human after all."

 

@oryP@ATallTower@bugbytes21

 

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George Hartcold-Rourke welcomes his old friend to the Seven Skies with a smile.

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"Ha! I outlived that old bat!" Amie Halcourt-Ruthern said triumphantly before frowning, because more of her friends kept dying.... what an age to be alive.

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