HIS NAME WAS SIGISMUND

[JuliusAakerlund 1780]

@Linde

Having followed the man from the palace together with the Knights the elder Patriarch Adrian Colborn shook with each step, his legs were barely keeping on through the emotion hidden within. When the Koeng had told him of his plans, his final play, the old man could only draw in a breath and stand by his side as he had always done. When the blade of Ser Walton the Wall finally struck true, some blood splattered across the square, small droplets painting all those near. It was gruesome, but at least it was the fate the boy had wanted for himself. Perhaps the Haeseni could find peace with that and no doubt would they all honor his decision, for his strength and his valor. "He found his answer after all these years..."

 

With a ringing in his ears and a hand clutching his cane he made way towards Rudolf Vyronov, perhaps sensing the man's mood the boy spoke to him quickly. "Please, do niet ask me to dual vy, Hauchpapej Adrian." The words broke the Patriarch free of his mind's many worries, is that what he had looked like? As if he was ready to die? Letting out an internal chuckle he steadied his hand with a smirk and whacked the boy across the top of his head. "Shush you fool, i'm not that old yet you hear?" On the inside the man was thankful as those words had brought him the clarity he needed. "There's still much to be done... Barbanov, our brothers, us Colborns will always stand by you and so has been true since both our founders made that promise, that vow. Perhaps that is why we have such long lives relative to our liege, so we might carry their burdens just a little longer." The Vyronov groaned out as Adrian began his monologue, far too used to it by now. "Hauchpapej I want my rest, please.." Thinking that perhaps he also needed his rest the elder relented and left for his bed, perhaps it could bring back the warmth he had lost mere moments before.

 

-------

@Seuss

Somewhere above the tall sky was a man kneeling before a far reaching pond which seemed to reflect the blue above, in its reflection could be seen the scenes of the mortal realm. He had been kind in life and loved his people, his was a different reign than most, but so were all those before him and after, behind him stood his father and a burly man. Though in life his son took a entirely different route than himself, he had always hoped there would be successor who followed in his footsteps, more akin to his ideology, his dream had long since been realized and ever since he watched Sigismund's every move. There was finally one amongst Karl's descendants that he felt entirely satisfied with. The Koengs before him which he met with frequently likewise had their favourites and Robert I certainly loved all those who worked the throne and wore the crown. But today, just for a moment he wished to meet someone he had long wished to speak with, for the first time he thirsted, thirsted for someone similar to speak with.

 

"Brog, I see all too well and now that he has come to us it is only right I applaud him in person this once." The many centuries spent in the seven skies had not lessened the ever-warm smile of the former Koeng, as his naked feet walked the shallow pond waters. He had observed the longest out of the former Koengs, having not left these mirrored waters for centuries, for to him the Kongzem was the greatest passion of his life and its people the jewels of his eye. But today he wouldn't gaze, no, today he would be elsewhere and glad to be so. Perhaps he already knew that it wouldn't only be this once, no, chances are that he and Sigismund had far too much to talk about.

[Franczhiz 4053]

Spoiler

 

 

The Baron of Pompourelia who was now resting in the Seven Skies, Joseph Sarkozic extended a bottle of Carrion Black to Sigismund III while beckoning the King over for a drink. "As a Raev to a Raev, let us drink."

[crazedpudding 2124]

Klara Elizaveta could only scream. She felt no pain as her nails tore through her palms, she felt nothing but despair clinging to and invading her heart.

 

"...Sers." Her father had rasped. "...Can vy tell my daughter... what we discussed at Hallaburg?"

 

Ser Reinhardt cleared his throat, and she couldn't bear to take her eyes off of Sigismund. She could feel him fading, could sense the steadfast heart in his chest accepting what was to come. And she hated it.

 

"His Majesty wished to duel one of his knights... to the death, so he may fall with sword in hand."

 

The breath shot from her lungs, and her world halted. She could bear so much, but she would never be able to bear this. But... as she looked back at him, her father, the man who had protected her from so much, the man she strived to make proud more than anything she had ever done, she could not bring herself to voice such words.

 

"P-Papej... Ea..." Breath rattled into her lungs then, and oh, how it hurt. "If that's what vy w-want..." She couldn't bring herself to say it, could barely even think it. Her voice was barely a whisper.

 

"I... I know this is selfish, Klara... but it's... all I have left. I... I've let fate carry me for all my life. I was powerless... to save Edvard, to... stop the war... to stop... so much, Klara."

 

All he had left? What about them? What about her?

 

"... I have the power for this one, futile act of defiance. My... my swan song."

 

"W-Whatever vy wish, Papej, E-Ea want vy to have it... Ea just..." Her heart weakened and wavered, as she knew it would. As it always did when it came to her father. As it always would. "Ea beg of v-vy, Papej... Watch over us... please."

 

"Always."

 

Klara Elizaveta screamed as her father fell, and her knees buckled before she was running, tripping, and running again, the ground scraping against her skin as she skidded to a stop beside her father. And as he whispered his final word, Klara felt her heart snap. A piece of her had died with him, and it could never be resurrected.

 

"I love vy, my knights. And vy, my daughter. Now, and always."

 

She offered him one last pained smile, the only thing she could muster. "Ea love vy, Papej, a-always."

 

She felt nothing, heard nothing as Sigismund said more of his goodbyes, as he made Jakob promise to protect her always. And when Maya gave him his last rites, she only stared at the door of his bedroom.

 

As he was laid in front of his throne, Klara wept and struggled to get to his side. She wept as the room cleared, and she wept as Adele and Jakob both held her. She wept as Jakob lifted her into his arms and took her home, and settled her in bed. She wept in her dreams, as she relived the nightmare that was this day over and over. Her poor son would never remember his grandfather in anything but stories, and she would never be fine again. Not as she had been. When Jakob told her would be, when Adele proclaimed the same, anger burst through her chest in small flickers before it was drowned by despair.

 

She would never be fine again. The nightmares would never let her.

 

 

 

[garentoft 8353]

“Heh… Heheheh.” The Duke of Valwyck tended idly to the cherry blossom tree that was growing outside of Valwyck, the one which he had planted over the spot where he had buried Anastasya. He tended to this tree every time he took a break from translating the Chronicle of the Ayrikiv, which grew more and more frequent the further he progressed with the translation.

“How’s he doing, Ana?” He inquired of that sprouting tree, and in his heart he chose that answer which he knew to be true, and nodded his head, a light smile grazing over Eirik’s features then, “I see. . . Tell him that I am sorry, it will be a while until I join you both.” And once he had finished that brief conversation, he headed inside to resume his work, and when, whenever that would be, that he finished it, he would continue with the choice he had made.

[argonian 12840]

"The first in centuries, and perhaps the only ever, who gave meaning to the title of Fidei Defensor," remarks Stanimar, remembering what he'd been taught about the schism against Everard VI.

[ThanksChris 589]

As the Koeng's body was carried off by his brother in arms, the Squire shook off the heavy pall of shock that had fallen over him. Sigismund was... no, there is no time - what is my duty in this moment? He scanned the crowd, the shifting, crying, shouting masses surrounding the space the Order had just evacuated and where he now stood alone.

 

And then he noticed the glint out of the corner of his eye.

 

Ser Walton's sword lay beside the pool of royal blood, completely forgotten as his Mentor Knight discharged the heaviest of duties that would ever be placed upon him. And before Matyas could finish a thought the blade that had slain Sigismund III was in his hands.

 

Should the weapon be preserved, destroyed, thrown into the sea never to be seen again? Focus, Matyas. The only thing that needs seeing to now is that it doesn't fall into the hands of some unwashed spectator. Ser Walton - no, the Table would decide the blade's fate. 

[Fie 2521]

Laurentina of Westfall greets the dead king in the skies with a simple nod of her head, no more and no less.

[TheBigBubbles 672]

A raven-haired woman of advanced age sat within her home, under the cover of a red banner, reading a book. Hesperia would then place it down, a flurry of memories hitting the woman, she'd think aloud "I wonder what happened to that fellow..." she'd murmur, fishing through a pile of news only to find the truth, she'd let out a small scoff, shaking her head, she'd place it on to her desk moving past her son she'd pat him on the shoulder, kissing the top of his head, almost afraid to let go of the boy, she'd then journey to the kitchen cooking up a meal with Sigismund in mind, she'd chuckle softly, "To think I'm sad about the death of a man I tried to kill..." She'd place a hand to her chest, feeling a wave of anxiety as she began to see her peers drop dead, was her time nearing? She could not have it. She'd hang a piece of parchment up above the library, striking yet another name  off of the list.

[_Sug 2556]

 

Somewhere, the Hound of Daeland sits, the man who was once Malcolm Douglas, a brother in arms of the Koeng places his face within his hands for he had gained some gnarled form of immortal torture, he was not what he once was, a beast and apex predator in sheeps clothes. Yet, he contemplated the death of this ally and a man whom he regarded as friend, for Sigismund was granted reprieve and for that the creature did envy. 

 

"Farewell brother in arms, until we walk the battlefield once more...."