[PK] For you are Anathema

[Toffee 2843]

“Silence. Sir Jarad, this man is of the occult. Behead him. He does not deserve last rites.”

 

Josephine knelt in silence in the grand hall of the Imperial throne room, her hands bound before her. Coarse rope. Scratching. She focused on that sensation, the rasp of the bindings against her wrists, trying to block out the noise and overwhelming animosity pressing in on her from the room.

 

“An excommunicant has not the authority to deny a man his last rites.” Lothar spat his defiance from beside her. They were kneeling close, shoulder to shoulder, and she could feel the blow as the Imperial guard behind cuffed him on the back of the head.

 

Terror. That was the serrated feeling sawing through her nerves. Pure, undiluted terror such that she had never felt before. To speak those words, in the heart of the Empire, was to throw oneself from a cliff and wait for the inevitable impact. Josephine was numb, the flurry of activity around her little more than a blur, but Lothar’s death… That, she felt in perfect clarity.

 

“For the Empress,” crack, “for the Emperor,” crunch, “for the Empire,” squelch. The warhammer came down again and again until Lothar was unrecognisable.

 

Josephine let out a strangled sound halfway between a scream and a sob. Her dress was drenched with blood and gore, the sickening sound of the warhammer meeting Lothar’s skull ringing in her ears. Oh, GOD. Oh, GOD, have mercy. She had forgotten that there was no God to be found in these halls. The light streaming through the stained glass windows was simply that; sunlight, posing as a gift from the divine. Speckles of coloured light fell on Josephine’s upturned face, mingling with the blood.

 

“Would you publicly denounce the actions of your mother and sister, and declare my husband and I as the rightful sovereigns of this nation?” 

 

Josephine opened her eyes as Anastasia approached, willing the terror inside her to abate. It lingered just below the surface, wracking her body with tremors.

 

“Please.” Princess Amelia stood on the dais. Josephine looked to her, this woman who could have been her sister, had the tracks of fate not diverted them. “Do not be daft, Josephine. Is your mother’s name worth your death?”

 

Her mother’s face rose in her memory, so vivid it was as though Charlotte was standing there with her. My little sparrow. It was the face Josephine had seen hovering above hers when her sickness was at its worst, mopping her brow, reading to her from the Holy Scrolls, singing softly until her coughing faded away and finally, finally, she was able to sleep. Charlotte Augusta, the Empress Claimant, avenging the husband and dreams for the future taken from her with one slice of Mary Casimira’s blade. A blade bought by the woman standing before Josephine now, backlit with coloured sunlight, a hand on the pommel of her blade like some avenging goddess of war.

 

Josephine saw beneath the veneer.

 

“Monsters…” she began quietly, her voice rising to a hoarse shout. “You are monsters, all of you!”

 

Josephine knew what she had to do. The words were on her tongue, but she still had to force her voice not to tremble, to come out calm and clear, though she knew what would befall her once they were spoken.

 

Konstantin… Forgive me.

 

“I reassert the will of the Church of the Canon and turn away from you, for you are Anathema, unfit to rule for the murder of the rightful heir, Prince Philip Aurelian. May GOD judge you, Anastasia, as he will judge me, and judge us all.”

 

Silent tears tracked through the blood painting Josephine’s cheeks. She knelt before the throne, her last rites washing over her as Anastasia drew her blade. Faces, so few but so cherished, were there to comfort her in her final moments. Molia was not there to hold her hand, but Josephine had her Lorraine cross, her bloodsoaked hands gripping the talisman so tightly it would leave an imprint on her palm.

 

Josephine Aleksandra went to her death with quiet dignity and, as her body fell to the floor of the throne room, so too did her hands fall from the cross.

 

 

Josephine Aleksandra Tuvyic, 1822 - 1859

 

Spoiler

Thank you very much for the RP! Please don't be toxic in replies <3

 

PS I have permission from Lothar's player to namedrop in this post

 

[winterblood 11181]

Spoiler

 

 

"It is not for men and women to presume what the Lord wishes.  That way lies evil, when men put themselves too high, saying, I know what God wants for it is also what I want."

Katherine Arden

 

Dust was upon their surfaces.  A light layer, though still a layer, over those remedies Moliana had prepared for her sister.  Her pale hand grasped a vial and turned it over in her palm, those large eyes of hers saw through it and into the years long past. . .

 

_________________________________________________

 

This is my sister? The young Molia of sixteen years thought to herself, her bright eyes were curious as they settled upon the young girl shying behind her mother, sickly and pale.  She is nothing like Liliac. . . Her foster sister was strong, and boasted often on how she'd be the finest swordswoman known by the Vasoyevi.  Not to mention how grandfather always showered her in praises, she was practically a pampered princess of Izvoroshu, and Molia had always envied her older sister for it.

 

Yet this slender girl was timid, her eyes the same as mother yet there was something in that look that was. . . fragile, tense, yet there was an intensity to them.  A curiosity akin to Molia's own that burned within her.

 

For a slight moment, Moliana feared that she would fall into the shadow of this new sister of hers, just as she had with Liliac.  The way Charlotte lovingly wrapped her arm about Josephine's shoulder to present her to her long-lost sister. . . A tightness formed in her chest.  Yet, that love in their mother's eyes was endless, it shared an equal joyous warmth for the both of her daughters.  Instantly, that hesitance was dispelled within her and a thought surfaced in Molia's mind: 

 

My sister, I will give you everything that's beautiful in the world.

 

_________________________________________________

 

The sun bore down upon her, practically making the red stones she climbed upon searing to the touch.  Molia could feel every scrape and blister burning on her palm as she grasped the ledge to heave herself over, wheezing as she crumpled into the sand and dirt at the base of a shrub.  The spots of dehydration crept into her vision as her weary eyes peered up to the boy that guided her so far into the golden desert.  He was picking deep crimson bulbs of flowers from that shrub and shoving them into her face. 

 

The bloody flower, as he described it.  Its true name she learned as Blood Lotus later on, a rather rare herb of nutritional renown.  It was the first discovery of her dogged search for remedies of her sister's illness, which clung to Josephine like a parasite.

 

. . . . . 

 

"That way, that way, that way!" the boy's voice came from her pocket, near trembling with his excitement as he was urging her toward the noodle shop up the road.  It had been a few days since he or Molia had a proper warm meal, having only rations on the road or watery soup from their findings in the thicket.  The found themselves within the bustling streets of Yong Ping, weaving through crowds of the market, yet the light shown through the colorful canvases over their heads and something caught it in the corner of the woman's eye.

 

Glimmering upon a stall, a talisman bearing a curious symbol of the Oyashiman people.  Its seller, noting the drawn in eye of that pale woman, was quick to coax her in with his tongue of silver and charm her out of a few minas for the talisman.  What it stood for is what intrigued her most; meant to ward away foul spirits and guard the wearer from darkness.  It was the perfect gift to present to Josephine

 

. . . . . 

 

Her legs ached when she entered quietly into the family apartment of the Augustine, it had been several weeks since she had been away on this venture of hers.  The night sky had already begun to pale with the morning, a red glow forming in the east.  Everything was still in the palace, save for Josephine's room. . . coughing was heard, followed by wheezes.  The poor girl was kept up with those coughing fits again

 

Moliana stalked into the room and found Josephie wracked with pangs from her lungs, her chest heaving and her breathing unsteady.  Molia sought her sister's hands, coming to her bedside where she'd do all she could to calm her.  A talisman pressed into the clammy hands of her sister, where Molia uttered promises of protection and fortune. . .

 

As the new day arose and life was breathed into the halls of the Augustine again, Moliana kept in the company of her sister to regale her of the many sights she encountered on the road.  She had yet to even unpack or clean herself from her travels.

 

_________________________________________________

 

Her fingers curled tightly around the vial and tears slowly welled in her large eyes, shaking her head.  Her precious sister, an innocent and delicate woman, now brutalized and murdered in some feeble and vain display of justice and holy might.  Another innocent life close to her was lost due to Molia's pleas for peace from the Crown.  What monsters this world has brewed.

 

 

[Taketheshot 3834]

Joseph d'Azor signed the Lorraine as the sentence was carried out. "And so war takes its toll once more... I wonder how many will fall until the invaders are defeated..." 

[Da_Emperors 1987]

 

Peter Augustus would stand still as he watched the bodies fall before him. He would shake his head as he looked towards the traitors and those whom could not condemn the actions of the unfaithful. 

 

 

 

((For @Toffee))

 

Spoiler

 @Toffee You are an amazing RPer and I want to thank you personally for being such a great person and also going with all the RP that happened, I hope you appreciated some of it as well and found some enjoyment in it! Hope to see you soon on another character.

 

[tilly 5115]

Odessa had witnessed the death of her newest friends, made quick foes, from a mere measure of feet away. She'd casted a hand across the mouthy Lothar's mouth when he'd relentlessly assaulted the empress, and watched in something of justified delight as he had his brains spilled on the floor before her very eyes.

 

When it came time for Josephine's last rights, Odessa listened impatiently, eager for the woman's head to roll; since Josephine had admitted her engagement to one Konstantin var Ruthern, Odessa had found within herself an insatiable bloodlust. She wanted to make Konstantin hurt the way he'd hurt her time after time.

 

The last rights concluded, and Empress Anastasia unsheathed her sword, Odessa close and silent at her flank. In a swift swing of the empress's swordarm, Josephine's head was separated from her body and it tumbled to the floor.

 

In a quiet semicircle, those who'd witnessed the executions stood, as if unsure of what to do next. 

 

"Lady Odessa, prepare the body to be sent to her sister," Her Imperial Majesty declared then, after several beats of eerie reticence. 

 

"Ma'am," the Lady Chamberlain affirmed with a curt nod, and motioned for her servants skirting about the room's edge to come and assist her with the maimed corpses.

 

Spoiler

hi guys this was good rp, from even before u were arrested. I had fun hanging out wit u guys in the palace, and i thank u for the great character development we all got from ur characters' unfortunate deaths. thank u for being good sports, and i hope to see you both around

 

[_Bueno_ 492]

Though Henry Constanz might've outwardly displayed outwardly of a rabidly patriotic audience member during the courtly proceedings. He'd have felt a pang of remorse as he walked away from the court that evening, his stomach turning as he watched the young woman be decapitated. "A shame such a young life had to be taken so forcibly, I only wished she'd have repented so she'd still be alive today."

[libertyybelle 6187]

"Now she may never utter my father's name again, I hope her gnat of mother writhes in anguish." Bitterly spoke out a Renzfeld Princess almost madly in the privates of her own home.

 

Spoiler

OOC: Toff, you know I absolutely adore you. Thank you taking this RP like a champ and I hope to see u around Oren!

 

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

The Dowager-Duchess of Adria awaited the safe arrival of her child, aged and embittered by her own failures as of late and praying Josephine might aid in the lifting of her spirits for a saint's weekend. Alas, it was never to come. The imperial remained oblivious from her place in exile.

 

Spoiler

Free at last! Let's never go back! @Toffee

 

[Guest]

Sir Dima Cato Ivanovich, Baron of Krajia, reflected upon the recent executions with a distinct lack of pleasure.

 

"I have one rule," declared the knight, whose pursuits of ignoble ends had taken him to many crossroads during his life. He realized he spoke aloud within his own chambers and cringed visibly.

 

The age. It is getting to me. It would have been better to coerce her had the ISA possessed the nerve. Devilspawn, put to death and rid of... but at what cost?

How many more will have to die?

[seannie 7443]

Maxim cringed as he received another report from the interiors of Providence, releasing an exasperated sigh of disappointment as he turns to a man nearby, "Good God, truly is a reign of terror in the Aster Court, eh, Leop? Such a deranged fascination with the slaughtering of dissents and those who seek remediation. It seems that under the pretense of defending their nation, these rapid dogs will forgo any sense of clemency in their bloodlust. I pray for the souls who continue their service to the excommunicant, may there senses be returned to them - there are more ways to achieve 'justice' that do not result in taking the lives of many." He concludes with a shake of his head, snapping off another piece of hardtack ration to gnaw at.

[esterhase 164]

Hugh Bloom raises his flagon high as he bobs around in his boat, his droopy mock-steppe moustache curled about his ear. With a smearing of lamp-fat on his paper, he writes a letter to the girl's parents. The spelling is choice and content most severe.

 

"

To Madam,

 

I's reckon you an them Haensers don't realise what an existential threat do to a man. Aft'r one loss, the idea of their culture, existence, being snuffed out like a nightstand candle is enough to make even the meekest of noblemen gnaw their arm bloody from knuckle to elbow. Mortal terror is the greatest ally and most formidable opponent in a war.

 

If yous remove the comfort and lackadaise behind fighting a war when you know you've got an overwhelming chance of victory, every nobleman that isn't unseaming his enemy from nave to chops is cheering those who are.

 

The greatest military machine in this land is the one that stands to lose everything and gain nothing. They's goin to fight with those primordial lobes long dormant in hunters for sport because the threat is the oldest one their there is.

 

There ain't no judgement from God in them halls, because judgement'd defeat 'em.

 

You use the tools you's got.

 

H. Bloom.

Whaler."

[NightOfTheWind 3226]

"Boo!" A slight rattling came from the stout figure's mask before the shriek of the sick Josephine, who remained all the more weary as it returned to the side of their master, her good sister, after releasing the imitation of a cackle. Time pursued since then.

The thought drove the man mad, gargling outside of the crimson wood that concealed his visage as he soon learned of what that ill thing had become, grinding his teeth. "Farewell." Yet, in the end, he decided it was best to leave - straying from the side of his own sister as she slipped something familiar into his pocket. Time pursued since then.

The tail of the spirit swept around in the wind of that surrounded those twisted peaks, that mountain of fruits and flowers he so dearly clung to in order to keep what little sanity he held left. The young Josephine was but a passing thought to him, perhaps he'd see her again soon through the gaze of his younger ward. Time pursued since then.

Time pursued to a strange figure, not too short yet not too tall, one hand garnered about an ebony cane whilst the other held close a framed piece of work. They remained still in the sands of moments pass, in a realm far inbetween the halt of memories. He felt as if it was familiar. Where had he gotten this, and for who were these people? Like so many other fragments, he knew not where this remained. Their stiff fingers were brought about one finger on the far right of the photo, tapping their gaze as their eyes met his own aged pits of blackened hues. "Ah.. you, struggler." His lament came out in an old tone, in a single rasp, outside of his own attention. "Who are you?"

 

 

[Ramon 5186]

Tylos II sighed as word was brought to him by an acolyte. "All this and still they bark of how wrong the excommunication really was, well We would argue that since then the Anathemata have shown their true colors publicly for all to see.."

[kujo_ 2510]

Konstantin sat on a cracked chunk of stone, outside the ruins of a forgotten town. He waits for someone who would never come.

[HurferDurfer1 2978]

However brutal it may have been, Candle thinks this will be a good lesson to a particular trio.