Time [PK]

[XOCO 502]

Rain lashed against Corporal Ezekiel Moores and his thick wool cloak, as his steed pounded against the black-brown mud of Outer Arentennia. Up and over the vast, looming mountains he rode, and then back down and across the length of the lake, taking note of the field. This was, after all, where high command had predicted that the Nordling field army would march, and hence, where the Imperial State Army had decided to end the war once and for all. 

 

It was the next Saint's day by the time the weathered corporal had returned to Providence, yet he did not waste a single minute. With great haste, he hitched the horse by the front of the Bastille's officer block, the great white mass of quartz bearing down upon the young Moores with expectation. With his cloak still dripping with rainwater, he barged through the all-familiar steel doors, and into the Galbraith's office. The sound of wet parchment slapping down onto the Captain's oaken desk reverberated about the cramped office, and Captain Robert Galbraith offered the young scout a rather dubious look. Regardless of how soiled the report had been however, the officer peeled one wet page from another, and read the report in full. With each line, the man's eyes grew wider, before finally looking up to face the young corporal in full.

 

"We could win the war with this!"

 

Captain Sir Ezekiel Moores stirred from his brief nap as the annual meeting of Orenian high command came to a close. His eyes drifted to the single empty seat within the room as another brazen young soldier concluded his speech. Major Sir Robert Galbraith he quietly noted to himself. Yet, his disappearance was not out of place - for many months now, the old man had spent his time away from the Imperial State Army, doing things only God knew. Perhaps it was the Rivian guard that kept him occupied - yet still, the grizzled Captain could not help but miss his presence. The man was practically his father at this point - and if not, at the very least a mentor and a stark figure for all of his years in the Imperial State Army - having seen him rise from a blundering recruit all the way to an esteemed Captain of great renown. 

 

He rose from his seat as the meeting came to an end, moving swiftly towards his tower, and hence his office. There, he would begin his routine examination of his notes from the meeting. Slowly, and meticulously as ever, he poured over the many pieces of parchment, until he was interrupted by a courier bearing grim news. 

 

The small flame dancing on the wick of his candle flickered for a moment as the world came to a screeching halt.

 

Major Robert Galbraith is dead.

 

The thought pounded at his head, threatening to cave in his skull as if it was some roaring stallion, thrusting and thrashing its hind legs about in a most vicious manner. His eyes bulged and swelled, as salty tears threatened their charge, and the man's hand let go of his quill and clenched into a fist. 

 

Caught by Haensers ... Slit his own throat.

 

The boy's words slipped in and out of his ears, the Captain only registering one fact.

 

Robert Galbraith is dead. Robby is rotting, six feet under in some unmarked Haenseti grave. Maggots will infest his corpse and tear away, leaving nothing of the man you once looked up to. The man is gone.

 

"Enough!" The captain snapped, rising from his seat, his voice carrying a ***** trembling. "Get out of my office!"

 

He crossed the room - or rather, more accurately, shambled - towards his liquor cabinet, yanking a single bottle of whiskey. Robby's favourite. He poured two glasses that night, and drank one. The other, he placed beneath a polished cavalry sabre that hung proud in a mantle in his office. Death and glory... and beautiful wenches.

 

~
 

Somewhere, in some shamble of a tavern, Pisspot feels a pang of remorse.

[Guzr 2050]

"A good man." Edwin said simply, sighing. He said no more as he pondered things

[HIGH_FIRE 5490]

Sir Duncan would slam his fist against the desk after hearing of the passing of Sir Robert in pure anger. "THOSE DAMNED HAENSETI SCUM" He would shout for anyone within the Vuiller household to hear as he would look to his weapons, perhaps he was next... but he would not go down without a fierce fight.

[The Harbinger 336]

"poo' sod, slowly dyin' like t'at, sufferin'. I 'ope when I pass, ets a quick death." Glod muses.

[13E666L13 2]

Josephus woke up prepared to go outside on his weekly patrol, he may have been old but he still had some strength left inside him. He walked to the stables to retrieve his dear friend Solomon, he hopped on him and started riding out of Providence only to be interrupted by a pigeon with a letter tied to its leg chasing him, he immediately stopped, looking up at the pigeon, he saw his doom and knew he has no way to stop it, a big ball of white feces hits him right in the middle of his face, he almost falls off the horse grumbling as he cleaned the waste with his handkerchief. After he is done he pours some water on his face and suppresses his need to take vengeance on the pigeon, he then grabs the letter from the pigeon and opens it seeing a message which echoed in his head; "Sir Robert Galbraith was killed fighting a Haenseti". He couldn't believe it, reading it over and over again as if his eyes have mistaken him, "Robert died, Robert died, Robert died". He got off his horse falling to the ground ripping his uniform, "It should of been me!" he screamed "I.. I.. could of saved him.." tears dropped from his eyes as he thought of his dear friend and commander he had known for almost 60 years, that day where he first joined the ISA seeing Robert scream at some poor recruits, laughing as he made them do pull ups. The sadness eventually became happiness, remembering the good things Rob did in his life, the good moments where they slaughtered enemies in the sieges and went through 3d brigade courses. Josephus then simply stood up, walked back to his horse, continuing to ride.

[Gridlock 1033]

Somewhere in the Highlands a big man Yak Farmer would once again make a lorraine cross for yet another fallen brother. 

[MRCHENN 4741]

"Took you long enough, dear nephew."

 

An age old head of House Galbraith during its prime of yore welcomed the illustrious Major to the Seven Skies. In some ways, it would be a wistful reunion, one prolonged for far too long. In his time alive, he knew Robert as the embodiment of humility, a man reckoned with the ability of attentiveness and dedication; the statesman himself fully regretting during his passing that he was not able to spend more time with his nephew. Nonetheless, the two would share a fine Rivian cigar in the afterlife, time without bound to discuss the many affairs of their lives.