Time [PK]

[𝖂𝖆𝖌𝖜𝖆𝖓 740]

Spoiler

 

T I M E

 

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The 4th of Harren's Folly 1862                 
It was nearing the aged Viscount’s 85th name day. It has been ever more apparent to the man that death was creeping slowly towards his door. As one of the last members of the ISA’s old guard the Major had bore witness to the ever fleeting numbers of his original comrades. The men who developed the man into his final state were long, long gone and the world around him has all but left him behind in the wake of radical change. The elderly man most commonly found refuge in the company of his ever growing family. Finding hermitage within the upper wings of his estate it had appeared the Major had grown far-distant from his men in the Helena Dragoons, distanced and subject to his own isolation the Major was clearly not what he once was. A shell of his former self, a near mockery of the man who he was in his prime. As a victim of his elderly body he was no longer able to lead the charges that he once had. No longer was he able to do what he so very wished he could accomplish. The man was no doubt discontent with his existence. 

 

Robert Galbraith, a man of solemn state of being, sat silently secluded, bound to his study within the Viscounty of Rivia. In a state of contemplation, conscious yet seemingly out of it. In this period of detachment, appearing to slip unnoticed, a figure, a shadow, an entity shifted between the backdrop of Rivian architecture. The Viscount continued staring blankly at the tasks before him, a staff Officer’s duty, all he could interpret of the dense military notes and movements were mere markings upon paper. They meant nothing to him anymore. Time had not been kind to the peer. In this atmosphere of silent contemplation the shadow neared, closer and closer it crept. The elderly Major, unaware, confined to his own bubble of thought and perception. Slowly but surely death seemed to near, moving betwixt the towering walls of bookcases scattered uniformly across the room. Many books have fallen into disrepair as a result of either complete lack of use or perhaps reading of a more thorough nature. The candlelight dimmed for a moment in the already murky room, it was nearing midnight and the aged man had failed to catch any sleep thus far. Searching for nothing but the time he had already wasted in his life the Major continued, flicking through page after page, though he read nothing.

 

It was most apparent now that death was creeping closer and closer to the Viscount with every second he wasted. Time was not on his side. Memories of his now distant past haunted him, like ravaging specters they would not leave the Major alone. The very men who once populated the Major’s most prosperous Brigade were long gone, the Crowly twins, the Ein Sark boys, Ezekiel Moores, Samuel Gendik, Josephus, Kelhus Othaman, Josef Var Ruthern, Mata Leslie, Tristan Pedriz, Leon D’Azor, Edwin De Sarkozy, Arthur Galbraith, Mika Uialben; these are the names the aged Officer would never forget. The death of Elizabeth Raven never failed to doom the elderly man to a bout of sorrow whenever the memory pierced his consciousness. It was now when a cacophony of these so distant memories assaulted the Major, once more binding him to the very chair in which he sat, to the despondency he secluded himself to. 

 

It was self-evident now that death was upon the Major, there was no escape. The figure had neared. The shadow of damnation peered down the Viscount’s neck. It was too late to act now, the Major stood and turned only to face a dagger to the gut. Twisting and turning before plunging it once more into the elderly man the shadow hacked away at Robert, soon he fell, though there was no blood to be seen. The Major grasping at his chest in his final moments did not speak a word, the Viscount simply laid silent upon the floor of his study. 

 

In an act of sheer mockery, the aged man had lived. Gasping for air, awaking from a period of comatosis, the Viscount lay in a slump against the bookshelf behind him. As soon as Robert had shown an inkling of  acceptance of death he was robbed of his perceived tranquillity of such a certainty. He had been derided by death. 

 

At the crack of dawn the next morning the elderly man mounted his steed for a final time. Linking up with a small retinue of men with the objective of disruption. First he rode to the narrow passes of Urguan, setting up a checkpoint upon a gap on the ever winding road to their Capital. Not a soul was found. With the expected blow to morale that such a lack of combat may bring harrowing above the Viscount’s head he carried on. Onto the snowy wilderness of the Haenseti Northern frontier. Heading South from the snowy peaks of Rimveld the Major trekked Southwards to the Capital. Once More not a soul to be found.

 

After countless hours of searching the barren lands surrounding Karosgrad the Officer finally spotted a target. Alongside one of his trusted Scouts they narrowed in on the individual. The call to Halt and subsequent clashing ensued, the sound of steel upon steel rang out in the surrounding hills for a skirmish had begun between the men. Driving the Haenseti back to their keep the Rivian men followed, the Major in an action of sheer arrogance and pomposity, charged alone unto the breach. It was here where the trap was sprung. A loud metal clang rang out into the Major’s ear. The door behind him had been sealed shut. The elderly man had no other choice than to engage the much younger Haeseti in a duel. Longsword crashed against war axe as the two men fought for their lives. In what seemed like a flash of the moment the Major managed to manoeuvre behind the Haeseti combatant slashing rapidly against the man’s armour. As the Viscount moved to make what he thought would be the killing blow he collapsed. The elderly man was struck with the blunt edge of the war axe falling to the floor unconscious. His men watched in horror as Haeseti poured into the area seemingly out of nowhere to aid their Lord Marshall and transport the unconscious Major to Karosgrad. 

 

The Major awoke to find himself in a foreign place surrounded by foreign people. To him they spoke an indistinguishable barbaric tongue in which he could barely decipher; he was in a Haenseti court. Unable to move anything but his elbows, the man sat in silence awaiting the arrival of his grandson, Nikolai Vladislav Othaman. After what seemingly appeared to be hours of waiting he finally arrived, and the trial had begun. Unwilling to allow for what would amount to a mockery of justice to occur the elderly man swiped the dagger off of his grandson’s belt and to the boy's horror plunged it deep into his own throat. An expression of utter disappointment played across the Viscount’s face as he locked eyes with his grandson. Spluttering upon a fast growing pool of blood which found itself filling the Major’s throat the elderly man fell to the floor. Seemingly death had finally allowed the man respite. 

 

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The Viscomital Household of Galbraith is saddened to announce the death of it's 1st Viscount and 3rd Patriarch, Sir Robert Galbraith, Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Lion.

The 1st Viscount shall be held in the highest honour by his close family and friends and his ashes shall be placed within the family crypt in Rivia. His oldest son and heir Philip Galbraith shall assume the title of Viscount of Rivia and Patriarch of Galbraith and be named 2nd Viscount of Rivia and 4th Patriarch of the Galbraith Family with his son George Octavius being the new Viscount's heir as right by the oldest son. 
 

 
Signed,
Philip Rupert Archibald Galbraith
Viscount of Rivia
Patriarch of House Galbraith
Deputy - Secretary of the Foreign Office

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Viscount Rivia 
Robert Galbraith 
1778- 1862

 

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Spoiler

OOC NOTE:
Playing Robert was a blast, I cannot name everyone who helped me along the way and made the character what he was but you know who you are. It was fun boys, I have to thank you all for the opportunity.

Also big thanks to Frymark for providing such good rp!

 

 

 

 

[kuerbis 3802]

Anne Caroline had since taken to sleeping in her office in the diet building, not wishing to be reminded of that gashing wound within her very soul. Her better half, her husband was gone. What remained was work and whatever things Anne turned to to cope with the loss.

[Josef_Rippelberg 0]

Within the Castle of Rivia an heir lurked in the meat room of the keep. Screaming and crying for the death of his Father.

[oryP 1068]

Ensign Kendrick Nightingale would march down the halls of the Officer Corps floor, reaching his office he'd enter and lock his door. Peering over the missive that sat upon his desk. "Another one of our High Command has passed, How much more shall we lose til this world is satisfied?" The Young Officer would query, a gloomy and aggravated expression formed. "I demand a Twenty One Ceremonial Cannon Fire for this man and will not stop until we get such." Kendrick exclaimed loudly to himself within his office.

[Taketheshot 3834]

Joseph d'Azor paused at the regular occurrence, another letter for the ever growing pile, he studied it for a long moment wondering what he would do when the war was over, would he keep them? Would he hide them away? Read them all over again perhaps? Who knew, for now he relegated himself to his desk, slipping out a bottle of Rivia whiskey, pouring a good half out the window before he sat down to enjoy one last drink with his old friend...

[MapleSunflower 1889]

A lone doctor worked late into the night. No patients had come in - for once - it was unfortunate. Perhaps the Major Galbraith could have been set into one of these very cots and lived... And yet somewhere his cold, dead body would have begun the process of rigor mortis, returning to the dust from hence mankind came. 

 

The dummy before her lay still, it's throat slashed open just as the knife that had ended Robert's life had. Jars of Blissfoil petals, Gislocinovi oil, and tools lined the cart to her left, and yet her gloved hands trembled. Dr. Primrose Gendik stared down at the bloodless gash  - memories flooding her mind.

 

The Old Providence stables, where her comrades had sang together as they tried to defeat the obstacle course. Scouting the roads for bandits and confronting one notable group in Dobrov... It was only up until recently that the scorched Earth had repaired itself and the bodies had become one with the dirt. 

 

Dr. Prim never belonged anywhere in the ISA, taking up work in the 3rd was the thing that suited the 20-year-old at the time and it had been that way for the next 41 years. She watched as members cycled through, the leadership continuously changing until she herself becoming a Lieutenant... and then leaving said billet. They vicious cycle continued with her too.

CLUNK. The mortar and pestle filled with Tippen's Root left a dent in the clinic's wooden floor. Yet, the middle-aged woman was unable to stir herself of those thoughts that haunted her. It was Oliver Crowly who shoved Tippen's Root paste into the soldier's hands when 4 of the ISA's own had their throats slit after a battle. Ezekiel Moores, Aleksi Crowly, Josef var Ruthern, and another name that had since been long forgotten. Each and every one... lost. 

The woman's breath hitched, sobs exploding from the aged woman. She had lost so many comrades, when would it end? Her eldest son was amongst the long list of names of the dead 3rd brigadiers. Who was left? 

It was only Hieran, Varlam, and her. Soon the memory of the good ol' days would be gone.

Soon the last inkling of Captain Robert Galbraith would be gone. The man who cared for each soldier like he was a brother or sister. Who was understanding of her slowness and took care of her the days she would show up to work drunk. 

 

It was not the loss of the man whom decided it was his time over the hand of the enemy or old age, but the loss of a comradery so tight they were a family now quite literally dead. 

 

Oh, where did the time go?

[Buffsanta 961]

Major Hieran Melphestaus sheds a tear, before remembering he left Robert in Haense with their Lord Martial.

"Oh crap-"

Is all he can muster.

[CanadaMatt 873]

Arthur Galbraith would await his father and welcome him in the seven skies, but no one showed 

[Laeonathan 5889]

"They will pay" says his grieving Grandson, Philip. Yet his voice was not filled with sadness, but wrath "They will pay" he repeats, as the boy takes his new swords and sharpens it himself...

[Zakajaervi 259]

Sir Solomon Obedia would read over the paper. He would frown deeply and sigh. Thinking back to sharing smokes with him at old providence, he would light up two cigarettes leaving one to burn out on the balcony. The other he would take a smoke out of. "I'll see you soon, old man." 

[PaleOmnivore390 77]

Richard Harver froze in place. One of the few people that gave Richard a reason to exist was gone. The man who had helped shape Richard to who he was today was dead. Richard would drink out the bar before going to his barracks. Here he stayed as he thought of the fallen hero.

[christman 3529]

A young girl, tormented already by the terrors of her mind, could do naught but sob. A screaming rage, akin to the one her father was sent into, loosed through the upper-half of the Rivia Halls

[Jokinghills 825]

After receiving the news Lieutenant Colonel Quinn Darkwood would sigh with a frown on his face "A huge loss for the Imperial State Army and the empire, he was fine man and a great soldier" he would note to his nearby comrades

[Minuvas 3193]

A courier would deliver the letter to Minuvas, and he would tip back a sip of the wine bottle he had from General Ruthern's death. 

 

"Galbraith? The old guard is all leaving us..."

 

Minuvas now lived as an elf should live, but he still carried the weight of his Valah years. 

He wandered over to a locked chest in his office. Opening it up he would find a tattered and blood soaked Orenian flag - a memento from his time leading Orenian Soldiers on the field of battle as their Vice-Chancellor on numerous occasions. He would hold the flag briefly in his hand, take another sip of wine, look off into the distance and place it along other long forgotten mementos. An old employment letter from Princess Josephine Augusta, his first pay stub as an Imperial Civil Affairs clerk. An old life, and getting older. He would mourn Galbraith for all those reasons and more. 

[ErikAzog 3575]

A long time ago, an elderly silver eyed General, looking down upon a congregation of Soldiers, his Imperial State Army. Before this Viscount passed away, this man was someone else to this General, he was a comrade in arms, and a personal friend. To him he was the future of his greatest contribution to the Imperial State Army, the 3rd brigade. And now after having served many decades long after he passed, he would once again meet his friend with open arms in the seven skies.