Jump to content


Recommended Posts










The hummings of a pleasant waltz broke free from its prison of idle tune, spiraling into a wondrous melody of violins and drums. Marie danced in a clumsy circle with her beloved husband, Rhys, all while he grinned behind his crimson mask. 


The evening marked the end of a delightful day full of festivities and tradition… and yet, it was thoroughly disturbed by the fabled Oracle and another of his cursed prophecies. 




“A decoration that hangs above…” 


The booming sound of thunder did not frighten her nor did the threat of risk. It was that ferocious roar of the Baron and beast of Otistadt, her father, who sent tremors down her spine. He was structured akin to a bear: a complexion so grizzly it appeared as if it held fur and a frame so stout it’d never quite fit in a chair just right. His temper was unhinged, crazed as if bewitched by those cruel wizards read about in children's storybooks. 


There was no comfort of a mother to shield her from the harsh words that soared from the maw of that wild beast, none but herself. Ungrateful, unappreciative, thankless, ungracious. All the same yet only in different forms, meant to break her. And yet, somehow, a warmth was felt as little eyes peered toward the armor-clad men and women ‘pon those barren walls of hers, sparking new hope and her own protection.


“A life that hangs on a thin thread.” 


Since youth she was pampered to be a bride, to sit as if a dainty doll, and bring her house pride. It was a miserable evening when her father brought her to that stubborn Ruthern she was meant to wed. His hair was rugged and his gaze was full of disinterest, much like her own. Rough like ragged rocks did they start off, with no cares in the world for another, only burdensome obligation. Yet through time, a predictable bond formed, little by little. 


It began with their pets dubbed Rose and Leaf, the two minuscule ladybugs they shared in their youth. She recalled how they tickled the pads of her fingers as they basked in the warmth of her hands. And yet still, the pair did not wish for their friendship to blossom further. It was only by the insistence of Baron Ludovar, her begrudged father.


“Shall she perform her duty out of love?”


It was with time that her heart fluttered like those old ladybugs of hers – seizing her heart in only a moment's notice. Two masked partners meant to be, finally united by the harmonious tugging of strings, ultimately weaved in dance. It was a moment that the Ludovar had known her heart belonged to none other, encaptured by that headstrong boy during the season of love, Lifstala. And with a flourish of skirts, they danced away, the memory embedded in both mind and soul. 


Only the thought of ringing bells could compare to that first grip of love, followed by honest vows muttered with bashful smiles – a band upon her digit and a band upon his. She loved him. With that love, she sought to share and thus she delivered four children; a daughter, then twins, and finally a son. Her heart throbbed with joy at each arrival, yet still she pondered. How could her mother be so absent? How could her father be so cruel? How could she live without her newfound family? 


A morbid, newfound peace. 


“Oh, lives shall be filled with dread.”


Two fathers; both loving and cruel in their own twisted ways; both to fall one after another. It left the family in dismay and shook the very boundaries in which the Duchess Ruthern had spent her lifetime building. A family of her own, wracked by the very supports which once upheld them. It was the first time she had seen her husband in genuine anguish. 


Still, it was the perseverance that helped them tread this rugged path in their life, the very might that pushed her forth in her squireship. Even amongst the gasps of suffocation which grappled at her throat and mass, squeezing inward; The grains of barley spilling into that prison of a farmhouse, trapping her and testing her to the fullest as the first tempt of death hovered nearby. 


It was all worth it to her as the chill touch of silver prodded either of her shoulders, dubbing her the Marigold Knight. 


“Oh, come, you Marigold Knight.”


A flower, bearing delicate petals and hues of bright yellow and orange – this was the moniker she was granted by King Sigismund III, encompassing what would become of her legacy on the Knight’s Table. Delicate in appearance but bold in meaning, the marigold flower symbolizes resilience and perseverance. Through her venture to the Lost Kingdom of Balian and many other quarrelsome trials, Marie emanated such – resilience and perseverance. 


And yet as the years staggered on, the sense of direction fumbled and became senseless to her. She was conflicted and bewildered with that path she was meant to tread, for she had done all that she aspired, and all she was set to do. 


“You've had enough of all the fight.”


With time, she noted the gradual formation of thin lines on her formerly youthful hands and the graying of her husband’s beard. Additionally, it was the sight of her growing children that sent her into a panic. No longer did they prance around in ruffled lace or furs, no longer did they rely entirely on her to be guided in life, no longer were they stood below her hip. They grew as she once had, and stood in confidence and pride much like herself and husband.


 It was a morbid sense of anguish that quenched her soul, that made her struggle with the reality set before her. Particularly, it was her little Angelika as she grew from a rotund youth of joy to an adventurous soul who bound herself to a life of monster slaying. It was also her rowdy Mikhail, the son she loved so dearly, whose behavior was always unkempt and chaotic – perhaps even teetering on the edge of madness. Her relationship with them was strained and suffocating, akin to how she felt in that farmhouse of grain: trapped.


Once more, she found herself wandering aimlessly without purpose as a Knight of the Order of the Crow,’til that fateful night at the Barovifest masquerade. 


“Rest now, illuminated.”


A sudden spark of purpose filled her being in that final venture of resilience and perseverance. With not a moment to spare, she jerked ahead to grab ahold of Amadea, a girl she watched grow alongside her own children, the future Queen of her homeland. 


With only a second to glance over at the bewildered expression of her beloved, she enacted the final heroic role she could play as Dame Marie: a martyr. A push was all it took as the chandelier came crashing down atop herself instead of the Basrid. Painfully, the shards of glass and the weight of metal slammed into her frame, rendering her motionless. Momentarily did it feel as if the weight of the entire sky crashed down upon the wounded Dame.


But then, there was warmth. 


As the noises and sights in her periphery dissipated, only the blurred image of her daughter Dorothea and her husband Rhys remained 'til she could see that comforting light beckoning her away from the living.


“This was as fated.”


It was the heavy scent of autumn that she awoke to and the sight of those yellow-budding flowers that greeted her as she ascended to the Seven Skies. As she gazed upon her hands which were no longer lined with age, a soft gasp fell from her lips and the realization dawned upon her that she was no longer in the realm of the living. 


The trail of tears that streamed down her cheeks spilled crazily, for no longer did she ache, and no longer did she aspire. 


She was finally at peace.


With a slow descent, she sat and rested in that field of gold before her. There she would sit, waiting for her family of six to join her. In the meantime, the Marigold Knight would watch over them from the comfort of the Seven Skies evermore.




A decoration that hangs above,

A life that hangs on a thin thread,

Shall she perform her duty out of love?

Oh, lives shall be filled with dread.


Oh, come, you Marigold Knight.

You've had enough of all the fight.

Rest now, illuminated,

This was as fated.









382 E.S. - 424 E.S. |  1829 - 1871




well, well, well, marie's gone and kicked the bucket :P

I just wanted to pop in here and say thank you to Haense for providing me such an amazing community to roleplay with. thank you to @erictafoyafor giving me this character, shoutout to @Nolan_ for working with me and allowing me to be the Duchess of Vidaus, and a huge thank you to many others who I got to interact with, especially the knightly orders and the queen's council ladies!! I will miss this character <33


also a HUGE shoutout to @DahStalkerfor writing the rough draft of this pk post and helping me out while I'm in finals crunch time, I appreciate it so much xx


Link to post
Share on other sites

"Really shit year to be a Duchess, ai Marie?" commented Anastasya to her lifelong gecko-girl of a friend as she joined her within the seven skies

Link to post
Share on other sites

Posted (edited)

Dorothea misses her mamej dearly.

Edited by meowcelina
Link to post
Share on other sites

Josef Ludovar would frown as he sensed his favourite twin enter the gates to the Seven Skies, although he'd approach her, offering a small smile "Vy went far, Marie, more than ea would have ever" he'd state before placing a hand on her shoulder "well, now that vy're here, what is knighthood like? Do vy think ea would have made for a handsome knight had ea niet ended up, well, here?" he'd ask as he chuckled a little

Link to post
Share on other sites

“Marie? Gone?” August denied, unwavering in his sureness about his friend’s livelihood. “.. Nein.” Did the Ser affirm quietly in a murmur - in a tucked away Palace apartment.


Forgone memories of a conversation between Ser Emil, Ser August and Dame Marie on a casual gate-duty shift - words of true friendship exchanged that day - he’d never forget.

Link to post
Share on other sites




Marie's husband, Rhys, sat atop the distinct hill top in Vidaus, just outside the Druzstra keep. His gaze lingered on the still water and the soft swelling of it in and out of a creek. Despite his sombre feelings the weather was nothing but blissful with clear skies and a lack of snow for as far North as he was in Almaris. A contradiction to the happiness all shared on the day of the royal wedding, the Ruthern Duke had slunk off at his earliest convenience to perch himself on the frequented spot as of late.


Rhys var Ruthern had faced hardships a plenty in his life, from the loss of his mother at a young age right into an at odds relationship with his late father, a father hailed as a hero despite his missteps as a parent. None of those struck him as hard as the untimely loss of his wife, a bastion in his life and a paragon of a mother and confidante. Maybe the hurt was made worse by the harm he'd caused the innocent, gentle figure, one that had stood beside him despite his own faults; of which there were many, there was no doubt of that. For the first time in a long time, tears welled in his reddened eyes, his breathing faltering whilst he wallowed in the fact that he'd proven that a person did not truly know a good thing until they had lost it.


He arose abruptly and bent to place the bunch of roses he'd plucked out of the gardens on the grave he'd been haunting like a bound spirit for the last handful of days. He'd made sure that the bouquet had two very specific creatures in the bloom, a ladybird of red and one of orange. A sad but happy memory of a time long gone brought back to the forefront of his thoughts with them. His fingers traced the grooves that read 'Duchess Marie - dame, mother, perfect' before he stood back up straight.


Walking away, the unworthy husband said "Until tomorrow, dear."

Link to post
Share on other sites

"****..." Her fellow Dame would simply remark at the loss of her comrade in arms, one she had been knighted alongside.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Dame Lynette Mendez looks up exhaustively from her bottle of carrion as Marie enters the Seven Skies. She smiles softly when she sees her; pride behind the eyes. "Hey kid." She greets the Duchess, outstretching a bottle and a book for her. "Finally did it, huh?" 


"A noble death for a noble Knight." The Dame remarks.



Meanwhile, Adele Ludovar's eyes fill with surprised tears as the missive is published declaring her Aunt's death.  "Aedymamej...?" She whispers quietly as her brows furrow in worry and sorrow. Her Aunt was supposed to be invincible - this piece of parchment could surely not be true...! At that, her breath catches in her throat. "Papej-!" The young Baroness gasps with widened eyes as she thinks of her father's mental state. She throws the missive down on the floor, where it lies wet in a pile of Haeseni snow, as she rushes off to her father's office.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Within the depths of her husband's keep, the Duchess of Reinmar puffed on her cigar, which she would smoke until flakes of tobacco and ash fell onto her lap and desk that was filled with paperwork. As she caught wind of one of her councilwomen's death, she thought aloud to her husband, "And there Ah thought, Ah would bae th' first of us dead. God is good." A grin graced her features, unusually so, until a harrowing cough that would soon plague their halls escaped her. @Frymark

Link to post
Share on other sites

A loud, sorrowful wail could be heared through all the lands of Otistadt. Full of regret, pain and longing. "I should have been there... I should have been there... I should have saved her or... or... at least held her hand in the last moments" the tears would not stop as the weak count banged his head on the walls of his his room. His dear sister... his dear Marie... memories filled him, from their early years, the bright, energetic chaotic girl she was, to the later years full of different chaos in her life... One not as bright.

Nothing but regret filled Johann's heart, he knew she was not happy. But he did nothing... he always thought he will have another day to come along and be by her side... but he doesn't. She is gone. Does she know he loved her so much? No, he does not deserve it. He does not deserve her to think highly of his love after all those years...

The count locked his room and crawled in his bed like a ball, crying endlessly "Marie... Yam so sorry.... Ea miss vy..." his quiet whisper was all that was left in his big, empty and lonely room...

Link to post
Share on other sites

Posted (edited)
15 hours ago, kaylaa said:

Within the depths of her husband's keep, the Duchess of Reinmar puffed on her cigar, which she would smoke until flakes of tobacco and ash fell onto her lap and desk that was filled with paperwork. As she caught wind of one of her councilwomen's death, she thought aloud to her husband, "And there Ah thought, Ah would bae th' first of us dead. God is good." A grin graced her features, unusually so, until a harrowing cough that would soon plague their halls escaped her. @Frymark

''And now you're the last." Was all the Duke muttered in return, signing the Hussariyan

Edited by Frymark
Link to post
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.


  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.

  • Create New...