THE FINALE DUEL [PK]

[TheNunnery 1853]

Spoiler

 

NO META GAMING!

 

 

 

THE FINALE DUEL

Tw : Suicide

Perhaps it was his own pride which led him to his foolish demise. Pride over intelligence. Patriotism? Perhaps?

 

 

How did this even come? What caused such a death?

It began as any day for the growing squire. Well, not any day. He had returned from a two year quest to find more of his own father. What lead him to his madness and his own death. An omen for his impending fate. Before going to the capital, The Ashford would decide to go to Acre. hearing vile rumors of the honorable Ser Gustaf and Baron Hannes. 

 

 

Alas, the Falstaff found the Barony with the honorable Knight being surrounded by his wife, soldiers, and others. The squire, thinking of joy, walked to the Heir. Asking him if he had heard the silly rumors which surrounded him. The silly rumor of Acre rebelling against the crown. How silly would such a thing be? Right? That joy faded away as soon as the Heir questioned him, soon after a Romstun ally approached the group, blaming the soldier for the attack upon his own family. Allies became enemies. So quick. So sudden for the young Ashford. 

 

 

Glares of hatred and distrust starred at him while he kept himself surrounded by trust and hope. But it soon faded. The Heir drew his silver blade upon the Legionnaire. Right after, the cunning Duchess-Dowager too drew her dagger upon the youthful Falstaff. His hope was gone after Romstun too drew his blade. All demanding him to give up his own arms. To become a prisoner, a tool. 

 

 

This is when it went down to the path of his own death. The prideful and foolish Falstaff wished to have a duel of honor. If he would lose, he would become their prisoner. If he had won, he would gain his freedom. Be able to return home. So the Heir sent his Champion. Ser Uther to duel the young Falstaff. The Ashford followed the Knight with some other grunts of the Lord Acre. Perhaps this is where the Boy began to realize that either way he would become anothers tool. 

 

The Finale Duel. Had Begun

 

The Ashford, fighting for his survival never wished to harm the Knight. Choosing to stand in a defensive manner with the pole of his pike under the grip of his hands. The truly honorable Knight charged forward with his body, being reckless but strong. The two fought with vigor and savagery. But with some strange dab of honor at the same time. While fighting. The thought came once again. He knew he would still be a tool used by traitors. By these once allies. He knew. That his time was coming to an end. 

 

 

It had been hours, the two men exhausted. Lysander, seeming hopeless. Only being able to breathe and think of how to survive. How to escape after he lost. Thoughts before flew and danced around his pysche. How he was a mad child. Bond to be mad like his father. Crazy and insane like his ancestors. His pale and cold gaze looked back at the knight while he held onto his sword. Losing the pike while dueling the fair Knight. Perhaps it was when the sun finally rose above himself and Ser Uther. He realized. 

 

 

The sun’s smile. A phase his mother said. A phase which was passed among the honorable Savoyardic men. Closing his eyes for a minute. Remembering the sun upon his skin while standing upon the dirt. Remembering his sister, mother. Even father. His mind finally shattered to realize a new narrative. His honor will forever be diminished. A useless mad child who wants to play knight. So then. He turned, giving a false yield to these men. Who in the end only stuck to their own morals. 

 

In the end of all stories. We all fall. He remembered this while he saw his mother and then sister go and fade from his life. These memories flowed while he falsely yielded. Letting out a tear then The Sun’s Smile while he still looked at the rising sun. Turning to the grunts and honorable knight. Expressing his thanks. Tears flowing down while he pierced his chest with the cold blade. His body moving back into the steam while his chest bled. Strangely enough, it was a sense of release for the troubled soul. Smiling while the blood flew from his chest and the tears from his eyes. 

 

Lysander Yves Ashford de Falstaff was dead. His life ended by his own hand. 

The story of the fool, the brave, the truly scarred. The son of the Last Count of Leuven. Had fallen.

Spoiler

 

So rumor has it that I am planning to leave Oren. This is true. But just not yet. I knew I wanted to give Lysander a full and tragic end. With all of my admiring knight characters. Lysander's end was my favorite. It was shocking and fun. But his story from start to end was fun too. I want to thank @antiopafor allowing me to play their brother. I want to then thank @Chennsterfor being a kind and chill buddy.

 

After these two I want to thank @DahStalkerfor being such an inspiration throughout my time and it was an honor for you to be a guide during my time being a Falstaff. @wowsirss I loved the times we roleplayed! I am sorry I had to vanish so soon! But continue playing Manon as you want to! Never let anyone sway you otherwise OOCLY! @M1919, @ItemVendor, and @KornazkarummI want to thank all three of you for giving me a blast with my last moments with Lysander!

 

Stay safe! Stay Healthy!

Love you all! Goodnight!

 

 

[DahStalker 3692]

As the young Ser found himself traversing to the seven skies, ascending to the oasis of honey dew and solace, he would be confronted by a face seen only in hung portraits. The vintner of aged savoyardic yore gazed upon the youth, donned in the ancient tabard of Leuven, helmet embraced at her waist. “I fear like many of us, kin, you have departed too early. Come, I wish to see if you can handle yourself a glass of vodka- named after my bastard of a cousin, you see.”