Satisfaction

[Narthok 10416]

Satisfaction

Spoiler

 

 

---

 

They had captured Ragnvald. They had captured Ragnvald. They had captured Ragnvald. The words thundered in Manfred’s mind as his world fell away. The laughter and music of the festival faded from his thoughts as he was consumed by one singular focus. For his Father, he would have vengeance. 

 

Turning to Captain Winchester he summoned his retinue and made his way to Providence, their pace so harsh that the horses collapsed upon their arrival. Through the threshold of the Imperial Capitol passed a creature of cold rage. The blood of the prophet may have grown thin, but in that instant any man could have been forgiven for mistaking the Rurikid as a revenant of Edvard. His face carved with all the angular features that emblemized his ancient bloodline.

 

 

It was all a blur, the shouting, the clamour of fighting men, men of Blackvale and de Villain freshly returned from a lightning strike against the coalition of countless nations. The Margrave found himself standing in the palace as if in a trance. Before him the unbound Ragnvald “King” of the hill tribes eking a living from the slopes of the northern mountains. 

 

The mere sight of the wretch before him nearly took Manfred from his feet. His heart beating so fast it was as if it would shatter his ribs, his fists clenched so tightly his nails had begun to draw blood from his palms. He REMEMBERED. 

 

His Father, betrayed, cast out, usurped. A prince of one of the most ancient bloodlines in all of humanity. Son of Godric, last of the great Rurics, before whose warband, bolstered by elite exiles of Renatus the armies of Haense and Oren had been broken. Whose boot heel had graced the head of an Emperor

 

He remembered the YEARS of bitter cold and biting hunger. The despair his Father showed on those quiet nights when  he thought his son and few remaining bannermen were not watching. But most of all he remembered the humiliation. The jeers of ‘friend’ and stranger alike. How all but the most loyal of the banners had one by one melted into the dark nights never to return.

 

How like animals they had been chased from town to town never safe for long. For who would offer refuge to a follower of the Red God. Who would offer their hearth to a NORLANDER who would offer refuge to a RURIC. 

 

He remembered holding his fathers emaciated hand on the mouldy hay of an abandoned barn, the princeling hacking up the last of his life as he lost his final battle with consumption. He remembered tears of rage in his eyes as his father’s pyre smoldered and sputtered from the moistened wood of the forest. So he had lit the barn on fire. 

 

 

First the young man had gone to Norland, the land that had trampled the legacy of Godric, the land that had perverted the faith of his fathers, he had humbled himself. He had sought any reconciliation, that he may begin to rebuild his shattered family. Jeers. Taunts. 

 

Pretender they had called him.

 

The next day he had laid his sword at the feet of the Emperor. A Heartlander. A Canonist. A Horen. A man with no relation to Renatus. Yet Philip had accepted his service. An act of mercy? A cold calculated agreement of Machiavellian convenience? It did not matter. The Emperor would have his loyalty until the world burned. 

 

At Southbridge he had put three dwarves to the sword and broken countless trebuchets. For the first time in his life he had a home. He would die a thousand deaths before becoming a wanderer again. 

 

He had won his peerage with blood still on his sword. He had hewn the first timbers of his new home with his own hands. Somehow he had managed to find not only a wife, but one who would accept his foreign ways and his Red God. And as the tides of war shifted in the favour of the Empire he had held his first born son in his hands. 

 

So long as the usurpers pretended to rule the Nordish people, so long as they claimed the Kingship of the Rurikid, there could be no peace for his children. 

 

And then they had captured Ragnvald

 

They had captured Ragnvald

 

 

And Manfred was back in the throne room, the petty King looking up on him with a petulant smirk on his face. 

 

Filth.

 

He trod upon everything sacred. He produced nothing but mediocrity. The great pillars of the faith, a suggestion. The ancient history of Norland, quaint stories retold by old men in the deep winter. The ancient traditions of the Prophet’s people, inconvenient. 

 

Back and forth they went. Trading insults. The Petty King bragging of his homosexual exploits and denigrating Manfred’s wife. The Marcher Lord disdaining his sacrilege against all that the sons of the Prophet held holy.  

 

“Remember the Sacking of Seahelm” jeered the Petty King, mocking the Marcher Lord for his service of the Empire.

 

“Aye” grunted Manfred “I remember it well”

 

“And I remember the siege of the Krag”

 

“When the dwarves tried to genocide our people”

 

“And I remember when the men of the Empire stood by us in our time of need”

 

“I remember our forefathers who bled and died at Helena with the sons of Renatus” He growled, his anger growing with each passing phrase.

 

“I REMEMBER”

“YOU ******* DOG” the warlord would shout, his voice echoing off the cavernous ceiling of the Imperial court.

 

“And here you are, grovelling in your own filth”

 

“King of a mountain of shit”
 

“Rubbing the legacy of Godric into the mud you pretend to call a Kingdom '' he sneered with disgust, looking down from his perch upon the captured Kingling.

 

With the mewling sarcasm so instinctive to his kind Ragnvald would respond “Did I strike a nerve?” He’d taunt “It appears I did”

 

“Aye” Manfred would respond, “Four hundred years of history, DEGRADED, DEFILED, by you filthy ******* ANIMALS” he’d snarl once more

 

With that the guards would sweep Ragnvald’s feet from under him, sending him tumbling to the floor as he’d land upon his stomach. 

 

Stepping forward the Marcherlord would place his boot upon the head of the Petty King. His eyes filled with hate and revulsion as he gazed down at the defeated man. He considered it. Justice for his father. One less rodent in the world. He would be doing the world a service.

 

Perhaps historians will call his actions a sin, a moment of a weakness, A lust for a far deeper vengeance, who can say. In that moment he removed his boot.. “No” grunted Manfred “It would be too good for you” 

 

"Torture me, kill me, it makes no difference. I defy you until my last breath. Bastard” Ragnvald would spit from the floor

“Rurics don’t have bastards, you dumb ****” Manfred would respond

 

Without another word he would place his hand on his large beaked warhammer. Pacing to the side of the prone man he would look down once more. Contemplating his hatred one last time.

 

Then, with brutal savagery he swung his Warhammer down upon the exposed backs of Ragnvald’s knees, piercing the exposed flesh and cleaving the vulnerable bone before the crows beak bit into the marble below. Spattered in the blood of the screaming King he raised his warhammer over his head once more. Once more it fell. Once more it bit flesh, it bit bone before embedding itself into the marble floor of the Imperial court. 

Casting his gore coated warhammer aside, the weapon would skid across the snow white marble of the court, leaving long streaks of blood and viscera in its wake. Turning the barely conscious Kingling onto his back Manfred would place a knee on  his chest and his left hand on a collar. Cocking back his fist he would bring it down on the man's face "For my Father" he'd grunt as the blow would land true "For my son" he'd snarl launching another "For my Wife" he'd say as the crunching of bone and cartilage could be heard "And for the Father" he'd say breathlessly.

His wroth satiated he rose to his feet “Seeing as men stand, and you are no man. You can spend of the rest of your life crawling” he’d say the disdain on his voice so caustic one would think it could melt stone. Spitting on the defeated man’s back Manfred would turn back to the Emperor.

 

“I will offer no flowery words. Thank you for this. From this day until the burning of the world you have my undying loyalty”

 

With that the Court errupted in cheers and the unconscious form of Ragnvald was dragged from the room.

 

---

 

[Gambit 964]

Captain Winchester smiled the Suns smile.

[Chase 3793]

"Did you hear, dear? They captured Ragnvald." The High Prince of Elvendom states to his wife as he reads the evening missives.

[Nectorist 12869]

Philip III looks upon the proceedings of the day with pride. His faith in Manfred, a Ruric, a supposed enemy of the Empire, had not been broken. To put trust into men like him was a definitive break from the politics of his most direct forebears. A man like Manfred could make a difference in the Empire- clearly his opportunities had not been wasted.

[JoshBright 3014]

Sir Jarad Munnel one of the men who captured the King. alongside his follow orenians of blackvale, the imperial legion, and madron would smile at today's events and  look to Philip (@Nectorist) "I had my doubt but consider them snuffed out, Ave Oren" 

[Shmeepicus 4213]

Ivan var Ruthern witnessed the debacle with tremendous joy. 

 

"Think, Ragnvald, think!" The words echoed in his mind, for some reason. Then he looked back up to Manfred, crouched over the King's body.

 

Spoiler

 

 

[kuerbis 3802]

Laurentina sought out Manfred after the deed was done to talk about what happened. She expressed to him just how proud she was of him. "Never again shall you have to live that way. Never again shall your ancestry be dishonored. Miserable years shall await that mutt of a king."

[Nord 346]

Augustus had been one of the men to directly capture the pretender king of Norland, whilst dawning the armour of Blackvale he would watch the proceedings from the side of the imperial throne as he then stepped towards the edge "Ave Orenia! Ave Renatus! Ave Arichsdorf! Ave Mardon! Ave Blackvale!" The youth shouted then being joined by the rest of the crowd as Manfred continued punishing the pretender