The Tale of Loose Ends

[__Hergh 785]

”The Tale of Loose Ends” 

 

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The coin flipped. . .

 

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Short was the story of this young Thuri-Elendil, one who wanted only for those of Cartref Mor to feel pride in her actions. Now, in death, she is released to join the ancestors. To look over those  still left in such times. 

 

It spun in the air. . .

 

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Poor decisions had led her to this point, as that olive hue of hers fixed upon her cousin. Regret clear upon her scarred features as she questioned her decisions thus far. Though she tried to survive, truly she did as his ax was sent towards her head. Ducking down she would attempt to avoid his blade, but weary from lack of sleep, and likely a bit too much to drink she would fail. The adunian’s body slumping as the sharp edge of the ax went through her skull. 

 

“Heads” Called Ailsa

 

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Shortly after, that beloved cousin of hers would drop his weapon, clinging to her limp form, as the aged gift of her father, a wolf cub that had been gifted to her years prior watched on. Betrayed she was by his decisions in life, but in death, all she wished was to have been given the chance to say goodbye.

 

Tales, it landed. For her life was to be written as such. . .

 

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Barely was the youngling given time to accept her death, nor did she fully accept it upon passing for there were many more she wished to speak with. To duel with, and dine with. No longer was that possible as she fled her once lively body. Scarred from the life she had lived. To the man she married when unready she wished merely for him to see the darkness in his future as she had seen it when she tried to save her and her children. To her father who had left her alone to be raised by those strong adunians, she wished for him to remain unknowing of her death. For those years he had left not to be spent mourning this loss. To Aurelion, a man called monster who still had some humanity in that aged body of his, she hoped only that he held pride for the one he called daughter whilst she lived, even while she tried to leave him. To Alruna Black’hil, Ailsa wishes only for her to find herself in this harsh world, no longer able to protect her as she promised. To those few Adunians left still from Cartref Mor, she hoped only for them to one day find peace. Unity. Even if she could not be there in person with them. For her children, the adunian would wish upon them a peaceful, happy life, knowing full well how hard the future would be. To those elves that had aided her in her times of need, Nememne, Elarhil Sullas, and Nehtamo, she wished only for them to live safe long lives. For Fritjof Maor, politely, the adunian only wishes for him to burn in hellfires.

 

As the coin stands 50/50, so too did her head. . .

 

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For the one who took her life, she cared little, it was bound to happen one day or another, at least her death did not end without remorse. 

 

To the family of the deceased…

I love you, all of you. Fiadh, Aodhan, Liadian, Melian, and Aonghus. I love you all, yet here is my goodbye. 

 

“May the ancestors guide you on your path, and may they be longer than my own. I love you, my little wolf cubs, and my beloved knight. It seems my death came earlier than expected. Be well all.”

 

Spoiler

To the person who helped me write this post @Pyrite ty, for helping my dumbass. @Jameson_h @SilvertheGM @CaffeinatedCrow@_Hermes__ @DrHope @Aech @Setsuko_  @RefinedSilence  @_Leyd @Zolla 
ILy all, sorry if i forgot to add anyone. Title curtesty of the murderer.
 

 

[Pyrite 192]

In a lonely keep the Templar lit the pyre and lofted a body from the ground. A prayer in low Adunic was spoke as per culture, then she was tossed to the flame. "No longer shall he enslave you." He spoke to himself, for there were no more tears to be cried. This was but one task of the White Flame, there was more to be done.

 

[CaffeinatedCrow 259]

It was a day like any other- a day that was calm and quiet. Basha was merely observing a spar before her Raven returned with a piece of parchment. Without any worry, she had hoped it was just a returning letter she had sent hours prior. She did not expect it to be a letter of Death, and especially not the death of someone she had come to know so dearly. The woman could only run- run to where she had prayed for Her Safety. Upon reaching the old throne room of Cartref Mor- she threw down that parchment and cried out, "WHAT IS THIS?! I BEGGED- PLEADED- BLED FOR YOU TO PROTECT HER!" She screamed into that empty throne room, yelling at what she hoped was the ancestors she prayed to prior before the news, "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HER-!" Basha sobbed out, falling to her knees as her armored hands clutched at the fabric to her chest. Heavy sobs escaped her form as she cried deeply. "She was my only reason....my only link.." With that, the Adunian would just kneel there in that empty space- with crossed out faces and burned portraits, she cried until her voice was near gone. Crying for a friend, a sisterly figure- and unbeknownst to her- her Great Niece.

[lemonke 6014]

A Tulach heed of this poor tale; anger and sorrow were not shown for such ways of mourn were not hers. Somewhere, in the deep land of cold. A structure of runes was built as a memento for the fallen adunian.

[riorr 1970]

A tall and darkly dressed figure slunk into the keep of Cartref Mor. Where was everyone? All was quiet, eerily so. Perhaps it was down to the hour of his visit. Traversing the streets, he felt a sense of mourning—not only for that which he grieved, but a broader presence of it that troubled him so. His tired gaze lingered over a specific door he passed, yet he couldn’t face entering at that time. Why had he come back now? He was being foolish. As discreetly as he had arrived, the man beat a hasty retreat.

[Apotolofo 2210]

[!]

The wind whispered to the trees, echoing through the empty homes and hills. . .

A vineyard home sat there in the dark, its door creaking in the breeze, left wide open.

A house empty, every sign of life vanished. Every belonging taken.

The only hint left behind, a note. . .

"A daughter for a daughter."

Look what you made me do.

[Wizzar 613]

Aonghus' metal digits unfolded the letter, his colorless expression examining its substance. Its contents crumbled under his tightening grip, beginning to rip and tear in his shaking hands. Foreign beads of water fell from his face, falling onto the tarnished letter "I do not believe it... lies..." he managed between ragged breaths, his swollen eyes shutting tight as he finally crumbled the paper within his balled fists "Ailsa" he whispers his wife's name, his figure visibly shaking. The sorrow turned to anguish and rage as he retrieved his broadsword, using it to wreck havoc on the nearest wooden bench. Blood and blistered covered his hands as he finished, his form slumping to the ground as he wept for his fallen Adunian. 

[Departed_Delmar 1302]

The woods where filled with naught but rot and pestilence, grass had long since dried up, the boughs of the trees had become splintered and rotten, even soil festered with maggots and worms. Yet the only thing he heard, was silence amongst that bush and woodlands. The man, if he could even be called that at this point, had shed the last of those tears. A right, reserved only for those so close to the Prophet, the Lord, the Father. Since that dreadful news, he had hidden himself, to allow himself to mourn that death as any living being should. Yet, that which dabbled with death, knew very well that such a state was only temporary. "Who was it, I wonder?" A hand would dig into the rotten earth, raising it to look at that pestilent land, that which he had sowed into existence. It was upon looking at that filth, did he wonder, why he had been so lenient? Perhaps it was the tug of mortality that kept holding hope of redemption. As he had been reborn anew, he had held the hope that all others, where capable of such. Yet the more the maggots writhed, the further he came to the conclusion that such was nigh impossible. "This is a punishment, isn't it? One of yours, for one of mine." He would let the rotten earth drift from his palm, letting it sprinkle and dust upon the earth. Mixed within it, would be a single sapling, a seed to grow and thrive within this desolate area. Slowly he would stand, dark plate, digging into the earth, as he began to tread away from the sapped wildlands. It was time to create, to forge unto this world, a new life that would further bring the balance. He had done much, but he needed to do more, create more. It was time to weave forth a new way to cleanse the sinful.