How much Longer? [PK]

[Lokvank 334]

Spoiler

 

How much Longer?


[!] A painting depicting Gustaf Sigismund in his eighties

One month had already passed since Gustaf entered the clinic, even more since he had begun to feel the symptoms. Several times throughout that span he could feel the ache increase, yet he simply waited for it to cease. Now the nights seemed like endless voids deepening further into their roots only to be surrounded by the sounds of coughs and breaths. Each day the elder would wake up wodering whether it would be his last, and leave to bed at night unsure if he would wake up the next morning again. How much longer, he asked to himself, would it take for it all to end?
-+-
One of those days the musician could be found laying on the bed he had learned to get used to after all this time, simply imagining some melodies and contrasts he would never bring to paper in order to distract his mind from his pains and struggles. At some point, the doors of the clinic opened, yet who had entered remained unclear at first "who.. might have arrived..?" the blind man asked, weak in his voice. "It's me, papej" replied Ser Jakob, son of the ill elder, before asking "how are vy doing?"
"Well.. ea've been better.." would reply Gustaf to his son while nodding ever so slightly. Truly, this was one of the times he had felt less well in his lifetime "vy do niet look any better..." commented the knight, taking a deep breath as he took his father's hand with both of his own "Precisely..  niet much room for that.. anway" was the reply.

Not too long after his son's arrival, someone else entered the clinic, wet boots making a squeaking soundagainst the floor due to the wheather outside. It was Laurelai, the medic who had taken care of the elder during his stay in the hospital, though they had already met a few months prior. This day she had come with some flowers, allowing him to feel them and writing the name of the sort on the palm of his hand due to her inability to speak and the elder's lack of sight to see any notes.
 -+-
What had Gustaf accomplished? This question wandered through his mind and so he asked it out loud. Thus a small conversation arose which convinced him that he had been an inspiration for some, like Jakob, as he wanted to do things his father did, be like him, though that did not lead to much in the end. Despite this, the elder had no reason to be ashamed of his son "Ea'm glad.. regardless.. that vy got vyr feet on the right lane for vy... Now look at vy.. a knight.. one ea can be so proud of" he would state with a weak smile before sighing softly "Perhaps.. ea inspired some others too.. after all..". It did not take long before the mute woman, still holding Gustaf's hand, wrote the word INSPIRED on its palm, followed by a shaky exhale.

 

At some point the blind man's eyebrows raised ever so slightly as he began to see a figure. It did not feel as if it was a dream or merely his imagination, but as if it had emerged from the nothingness he had got used to through the years. He was yet to recognise who or what it was, though it was certain that it was moving in his direction, and it was not doing it slow. With each step the figure took, the heavier his breathes felt, the faster his irregular heartbeat became. Once the figure was too close to prevent anything, it was revealed who the figure had been all this time. "A- Alicja..?" was the last word the elder managed to pronounce, not taking a single breath more afterwards.
All this brief time, the figure had been his long dead daughter, welcoming him with open arms
-+-

Edited November 2, 2022 by Lokvank
wasn't finished

[Althea_ 330]

She had been remiss, not only in this tragic night but for a while. The loss was iminent, drawing closer and closer, gnawing at the back of her head for the longest, a seed planted into the back of her head since they first met: whereas Gustaf was wholly human, Tavisha's blood flowed with elven intermixed, and she too well knew if she weren't to fall in battle, she'd fall to her knees in sorrow, crushed not by hammers but by the pain of loss of her dear husband, as she sees herself now.

 

Being close to him, as he aged near the century, sickened her stomach with anxiety and worry, so at times she tried to distance herself, never cheating like her father Ser Alric did so many times (which led to her birth, a bastard, loved by almost none, yet by her now late husband), but in attempts to distract herself, and slowly mute feelings, something she never succeeded in.

 

So she spent time trying figure out ways to improve Gustaf's welfare, heck even delving into elden archives of forsaken alchemists in pursuit of the Elixir of Life she so often dreamed of, or even at times contemplating alternatives darker.

 

Whereas for the longest time in her life she was frightened of death, aware of the doom that awaited her, cursed by the old Chieftain of the Nachezer Fiends to plunge into the deepest hells with him; Gustaf was calm and accepting of his mortal end, going through it peacefully - something Tavisha never learned to do. 

 

Now she sat by him in the morgue, head peering down onto the floor in defeat, not a word echoing out her mouth, as her very vision blurred, as anxiety and lament churned across her form, flooding her mind, weakening her heart and paining her soul.

 

Her children had moved onto their lives, and now her life long companion was gone, and now she envied those who could still speak to the dead. Perhaps, it was time for her to go too, into hells? Hopefully not - but rather into the unknown, guided by the faintest spiral of flame. She lived with full-blooded humans, and lived her share, it stood to reason to put an end to the chapter and allow for the next to be written by another.

[Frank_Dog 299]

Franziska Starling greeted her friend with a smile. The man who was the first to give her friendship in Karosgrad. It had been decades since they spoke but she was glad to see him again

[MapleSunflower 1049]

Somewhere in the North, Laurelai Holly rode her old stallion across the snowy landscape. Each hoof track left in the snow was covered by the gentle descent of white that fell from the sky. By the time the holly-adorned woman had found shelter, she sat up in the makeshift bed and began to write in her leather-bound journal decorated with herbal designs. The quill tip scratched against the parchment.

 

NAME: Gustaf Sigismund Morovar
AGE: 87

YEAR: SA 100

LOCATION: Karosgrad, Haense

INJURIES SUSTAINED: Arrythmia and weakened heartbeat. Old age

TREATMENT: Treatment rejected. Peaceful death desired. Do not Resuscitate. 

ADVICE/AFTERCARE: Love. 

 

Laurelai stared at the ceiling that night, unable to sleep. Her lids shut at her force and she drew slow, deep breaths. Eventually she fell into a light sleep with the medic journal resting over her chest. 

[AlexMKPX 49]

Lura Paleheart sits at her table holding her head in dismay, silently staring at her cup of tea, untouched and long since cooled. She winces as a sharp pain echoes in her head, causing her to collapse on the table, spilling the cup of tea all over. "Dravi... firr Gustaf, vy were a dobry man, spasiba for everything." As she hums herself to sleep.

[KaptainScarlet 271]

Scarlet would pay her respect upon the grave of the elder man, laying some freshly picked flowers upon the cold stone. Although she did not spend much time with the elderly, she forgets not the day she visited Haense and it was he who spoke to her out of all walking by. It was also he who kindly gave her some money when she was searching for business, such warmth could not be forgotten. Bearing a sad smile, she wishes the elder man a peaceful rest.