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Redemption I: ✠ TO CALL A KNIGHT ✠


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REDEMPTION I:

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Edwin de Sarkozy sat on the streets of Karosgrad. For the past thirty years, he claimed no home except the humble abode of his tent and whatever shelter he could acquire. He lofted up the bowl of soup clasped within his hands, bringing it forth to his mouth. Then, Edwin thought back to his youth.

 

The sound of lance shattering against shield and a horse’s whinny reverberated in his thoughts. The Supreme Order of Exalted Owyn, of which he was a part of, had enough knights to hold their own tourneys. St. Edmond’s Beauclair, a fort he had designed, was warm and filled with sunshine.They were happy, then. Content with their profession of spilling blood to protect the innocent and holy.

 If only he had known. 

 

Rain pelted him back to the present. A lowly crier announced that year’s bull, and the old knight was handed a paper. His singular eye scanned the paper, noticing then he had been named Apostolic General of the church. It was a position he had long yearned for in his youth, though now he took it out of necessity. Still, it pleased him, and he bore a smile upon his face. 

 

“So, you’ll fail them again?” He knew that voice. Vukosav Radomavic was his squire, his closest friend. That was before he turned vampyr and unholy. Edwin shot to his feet and around to peer at the voice, only to notice nothing. A trick of the mind, perhaps. His thoughts drifted back to the Beauclair.

 

Holy Sir Vukosav’s horse came to a halt, the knight’s black sword raised in the air in victory. Applause from the crowds, and a bow from Edwin, whom had been thrown by the lance. “Finally got your aim down, then?” Called Edwin with a laugh to Vukosav. 

“I learned from the best! Perhaps I’ll teach you a thing or two now?” replied he with a smile, and reared his steed. Edwin returned to his seat next to Apostolic General Armand de Rennes, whom was once his mentor. “Strange how quick they learn. One moment you’re showing them how to properly strap on their armor, the next they’re the adoration of the crowd. He was a good squire, and he’ll be a better knight.”

 

The old knight put down the paper, the crier still announcing the news in the background. He looked to his sword, which lay by his side in the rain. It glinted with Aurum, its pommel fashioned into a cross. An aged sigh came from his scarred lips, and Edwin’s head hung as the memories returned. 

 

“The bastard, how could he? I took him off the streets. I fed him, armored him. I taught the man how to swing a damned sword.” Edwin paced, face filled with rage. He pivoted to the Lector. “And you have proof of this? Proof Vukosav is this unholy? Proof he drinks the blood of the innocent and rides with a dark cohort against the clergy?” The Lector supplied the documents. Edwin sat, bringing his hands to his face. “Leave me.”

The door slammed shut and the knight was left with his thoughts alone. He looked to his saddlebag, and it was not long before he rode away from the order with the moon on his back. He fled. 

 

And now he had returned. The shadow of the Basilica sheltered him from the rain. Beside him now was Holy Sir August ‘The Just’. Edwin took his hand and rose to his feet. “I’m done running. Come, brother, we have a wrong to right.” The two aged knights marched for the Basilica, and not long thereafter several doves emerged from such, carrying a letter to the realms:

 

“To the Holy Knights of the Supreme Order of Exalted Owyn

 

It’s been many years since St. Edmond’s Beauclair. Since our jousts and battles with the devils. I write to you today not because of my own aspirations, but out of necessity. I have failed this order. In it’s time of need, I fled from my own creation. The remaining knights either joined Vukosav’s cohorts or devoted themselves to their own secular ambitions. Our order only survived by the efforts of Holy Sir August and Apostolic General Faux Amati with her brave compatriots, including the Sainted Nicholas.

 

 I ask you to look at the state of the lands. Canonist brothers bludgeon each other and the innocent are caught in the fray. It is a danger for the clergy to travel, and strangely a greater danger for them to stay put behind walls. It does not have to be so. I write to you, men of the lance and steed, answer His Holiness Tylos II’s bull. Return to the Holy See and join your past compatriots to protect the church and all that is holy. Return and reclaim your place in the Seven Skies, for all that is just and holy. 

 

We await your arrival.

Holy Sir Edwin.

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Holy Sir August nodded his head with warm smile before speaking up "GOD bless, utterly based"

 

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Tylos I smiles widely from the Skies above them, "He is back indeed."

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Melquíades Bishop Reinmar found himself moved, receiving a secondly-forwarded second-copy of the lettered document late into the night, in the lonely Chapel across the Palace Gardens, peeking out his window towards the massive Golden decorative Cannon so oddly placed facing towards the holy site.

 

"Of course he is a good man. Why does he give himself such self-imposed punishments?", pondered the Hyspian, signing the Hussariyan across his chest as the document was hidden within the cabinets of his office desk, "He and his men will do fantastic work."

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Venerable Joseph Sarkozic shouted from the Seven Skies at his uncle. "Stay based and stay armed Uncle Ed."

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Spoiler

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The radiant soul of Holy Sir Armand stirred in its final resting place, moved by the piety and resolve of his old squire. He sought ways to manifest and bestow his favor upon the valiant defenders of the Church.

 

 

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A certain patron saint of scholastics and monasteries smiles from the deepest parts of the skies above.  

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1 hour ago, Guzr said:

Edwin de Sarkozy sat on the streets of Karosgrad.

 

       "This guy is truly blessed by GOD. He managed to live on the streets of Karosgrad for thirty years, and managed to remain entirely invisible." Ser Abraham ponders as he's only seen Edwin a few times for a so called thirty years. He rubbed his chin, wondering where the man had been squatting all this time.

 

        "Truly amazing."

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"Well, seems The heat still hasn't died down" the most Unholy Ser Vukosav Spoke as he leaned back in a chair, silently drinking from a blood red cup. "Oh well, it seems my vacations has extended..." and so he relaxed, going back to basking in the darkness of some unknown crypt enjoying some elven cuisine.

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